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THE  WAGNER  STORY  BOOK 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 


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'AT   LAST   WE    C-«N    SEE    SOMETHING    IN    THE    FIRE 


THE 

WAGNER  STORY  BOOK 


FIRELIGHT   TALES  OF  THE 
GREAT  MUSIC  DRAMAS 


BY 

WILLIAM  HENRY  FROST 


ILLUSTRATED  BY  SYDNEY  RICHMOND  BURLEIGK 


NEW  YORK 

CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S    SONS 

1908 


COPYRIGHT,  1894,  BY 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


to 
f  efen  (gre^fiief 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

THE  STOLEN  TREASURE, i 

THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  GOD, 27 

THE  HERO  WHO  KNEW  No  FEAR, 49 

THE  END  OF  THE  RING, 73 

THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  SWAN,  .  .        .  -95 

THE  PRIZE  OF  A  SONG, 115 

THE  BLOOD-RED  SAIL, 143 

THE  LOVE  POTION, 165 

THE  MINSTREL  KNIGHT, 191 

THE  KING  OF  THE  GRAIL, 213 

THE  ASHES, 241 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

FACING 
PAGE 

"AT  LAST  WE  CAN  SEE  SOMETHING  IN  THE  FIRE,"    Frontispiece 

"  THE  GOLD  SHINES  OUT  SO  BRIGHT  AND  BEAUTIFUL,"    .      IO 

THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  GOD, 38 

"  THE   SUNLIGHT  FOLLOWS   HIM    STRAIGHT  INTO  THE 

CAVE," 54 

"  THEIR  TREASURE  is  THEIR  OWN  AGAIN,"      ...      92 

"THE  KNIGHT  OF  HER  DREAM," IO6 

"HE  SAW  HER  EYES  BRIGHTER  THAN  THE  STARS,".       .    138 
"  THROUGH  THE  BLACK  STORM  AND  HIS  OWN  BLACKER 

DESPAIR," 156 

"  AS  IF  THEY  COULD   NEVER  GAZE  ENOUGH,"    .  .  .      182 

"  THE  STRANGEST  FLOWERS  GROW  UP  UNDER  THEIR  FEET,"    2OO 
THE  KING  OF  THE  GRAIL, 240 


THE  STOLEN  TREASURE 


THE  STOLEN  TREASURE 

THERE  is  a  certain  little  girl  who  sometimes 
tries  to  find  out  when  I  am  not  over  busy,  so 
that  she  may  ask  me  to  tell  her  a  story.  She 
is  kind  enough  to  say  that  she  likes  my 
stories,  and  this  so  flatters  my  vanity  that  I 
like  nothing  better  than  telling  them  to  her. 
One  reason  why  she  likes  them,  I  suspect,  is 
that  they  are  not  really  my  stories  at  all,  the 
most  of  them.  They  are  the  stories  that  the 
whole  world  has  known  and  loved  all  these 
hundreds  and  thousands  of  years,  tales  of  the 
gods  and  the  heroes,  of  the  giants  and  the  gob- 
lins. Those  are  the  right  stories  to  tell  to 
children,  I  believe,  and  the  right  ones  for  chil- 
dren to  hear — the  wonderful  things  that  used  to 
be  done,  up  in  the  sky,  and  down  under  the 
ocean,  and  inside  the  mountains.  If  the  boys 
and  girls  do  not  find  out  now,  while  they  are 
young,  all  about  the  strange,  mysterious,  mag- 
ical life  of  the  days  when  the  whole  world  was 
young,  it  is  ten  to  one  that  they  will  never  find 
out  about  it  at  all,  for  the  most  of  us  do  not 
keep  ourselves  like  children  always,  though 


4  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

surely  we  have  all  been  told  plainly  enough 
that  that  is  what  we  ought  to  do. 

This  little  girl's  mother  is  rather  a  strange 
sort  of  woman.  I  do  not  know  that  she  exact- 
ly disagrees  with  us  about  these  stories  that 
we  both  like  so  much,  but  she  seems  to  have  a 
different  way  of  looking  at  them  from  ours.  I 
sometimes  suspect  that  she  does  not  even  be- 
lieve  in  fairies  at  all,  that  she  never  so  much  as 
thought  she  saw  a  ghost,  that,  if  she  heard  a 
dozen  wild  horses  galloping  over  the  roof  of 
the  house  and  then  flying  away  into  the  sky, 
she  would  think  it  was  only  the  wind,  and  that 
she  is  no  more  afraid  of  ogres  than  of  police- 
men. Still  she  is  a  woman  whom  one  cannot 
help  liking,  in  some  respects. 

But  one  day  she  said  something  to  the  little 
girl  that  surprised  me,  and  made  me  think  that 
perhaps  I  had  done  her  injustice.  The  child 
came  to  me  with  a  face  full  of  perplexity  and 
said  :  "  What  do  you  suppose  mamma  just  told 
me?" 

"  I  am  sure  I  can't  guess,"  I  replied ;  "  your 
mother  tells  you  such  ridiculous  things  that  I 
am  always  afraid  to  think  what  will  be  the 
next.  Perhaps  she  says  that  William  Tell 
didn't  shoot  an  apple  off  his  little  boy's  head, 
or  that  the  baker's  wife  didn't  box  King  Al- 
fred's ears  for  letting  the  cakes  burn." 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  the  child,  "  it  isn't  a  bit  like 


The  Stolen   Treasure  5 

that ;  she  says  that  you  can  see  pictures  in  the 
fire  sometimes — men  and  horses  and  trees  and 
all  kinds  of  things." 

"  Does  she,  indeed  ?  And  how  does  your 
mother  know  what  I  can  see  in  the  fire  or  what 
I  can't  see  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  mean  just  you — yourself,  I 
mean  anybody.  Now  can  you?  I  mean  can 
anybody  ?  " 

"  Why,  yes,  if  that  is  what  you  mean  ;  I  think 
some  people  can.  It  is  the  most  sensible  thing 
I  have  known  your  mother  to  say  in  a  long 
time." 

"  But  how  can  anybody  see  such  things  ? 
Can  you  see  them  ?  I  have  been  looking  at 
the  fire  ever  so  long,  and  I  can't  see  anything 
at  all  but  just  the  fire,  the  wood,  and  the  ashes." 

"  Let  us  look  at  it  together,"  I  said  ;  and  I 
put  a  chair  that  was  big  enough  to  hold  both 
of  us  before  the  fireplace.  "Just  see  how 
bright  the  fire  is ;  look  down  into  those  deep 
places  under  the  sticks,  and  see  how  it  glows 
and  shines  like  melted  gold.  Now,  you  know 
when  you  look  into  a  mirror  you  can  see  pict- 
ures of  the  things  in  front  of  it — your  own 
face,  the  walls  of  the  room,  the  furniture.  That 
is  because  the  mirror  is  so  bright  that  it  re- 
flects these  things  ;  yet  the  mirror  is  not  bright 
enough  to  reflect  anything  except  what  is 
there  before  it,  such  things  as  you  can  see  with 


6  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

your  eyes  and  touch  with  your  hands.  But 
the  fire  can  do  better  than  that,  for  it  is  a  great 
deal  brighter  than  the  mirror,  and  it  is  so 
bright  that  it  can  reflect  thoughts.  So  you 
must  think  of  the  pictures  first,  and  then,  if  you 
know  just  how  to  look  for  them  in  the  fire, 
you  will  find  them  reflected  there,  and  after  a 
little  while  you  will  be  surprised  at  the  won- 
derful things  you  will  see." 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean  at  all,"  said 
the  child  ;  "  tell  me  what  you  can  see  in  the 
fire  now." 

"Very  well.  Suppose,  then,  first,  that  you 
almost  close  your  eyes,  but  not  quite,  so  that 
you  will  not  see  the  fire  so  plainly,  and  it  will  all 
run  together  and  look  dim  and  misty.  When  I 
look  at  it  in  that  way  it  seems  to  me  to  be  fire 
no  more,  but  water.  It  is  as  if  we  were  down 
under  a  broad,  deep  river,  and  could  see  all  the 
mass  of  water  slowly  eddying  and  whirling  and 
flowing  on  above  us,  with  just  the  little  glow 
and  glimmer  of  brightness  that  come  down 
from  the  daylight  and  the  air  above.  But 
there  is  one  little  spot  that  is  brighter,  right  in 
the  middle  of  the  fire,  where  you  see  that  one 
little  yellow  flame  all  by  itself.  In  my  picture, 
it  is  like  a  big  lump  of  pure  gold,  resting  on  a 
point  of  rock  that  stands  straight  up  from  the 
bottom  of  the  river.  It  is  really  gold,  and 
magic  gold  at  that,  for  you  know  wonderful 


The  Stolen  Treasure  *j 

treasures  often  lie  at  the  bottoms  of  rivers. 
One  of  the  wonderful  things  about  this  gold  is 
that,  if  anybody  could  have  a  ring  made  of  it,  he 
could  compel  everybody  else  to  obey  him  and 
serve  him,  and  could  rule  the  whole  world. 

"  Three  forms  I  can  see  now  moving  back- 
ward and  forward,  and  up  and  down,  and  around 
and  around  about  the  gold.  Now  they  grow  a 
little  clearer.  They  are  river  nymphs,  or  some- 
thing of  the  sort,  and  they  are  here  to  guard 
the  gold,  lest  anybody  should  try  to  steal  it. 
It  would  not  be  easy  to  steal,  even  if  it  had  no 
guard,  and  knowing  this  has  perhaps  made 
these  pretty  keepers  a  little  careless  about  it, 
so  that  now,  instead  of  watching  it  very  closely, 
they  are  swimming  and  diving  and  circling 
about,  trying  to  catch  one  another,  having  the 
jolliest  time  in  the  world,  and  never  thinking 
that  there  may  be  danger  near." 

"  And  you  can  see  all  those  things  in  the 
fire  ?  "  said  the  little  girl.  "  I  can't  see  any  of 
them.  How  do  you  see  them  ?  " 

"  Just  as  I  told  you  at  first,  by  thinking  of 
them  and  then  seeing  the  thoughts  reflected 
there." 

"  Well,  tell  me  some  more." 

"  Look  at  that  little  dark  spot  under  the  fire. 
When  I  look  at  it  in  the  way  I  have  told  you,  it 
is  the  form  of  a  dwarf.  He  is  ugly  and  rough- 
looking,  he  is  crooked,  and  he  has  a  wicked 


8  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

face.  He  slips  and  tumbles  slowly  along,  till 
he  catches  sight  of  the  water  nymphs,  and  they 
look  so  pretty  and  graceful  and  happy,  as  they 
chase  one  another  about  and  up  and  down  and 
around,  that  his  cruel  little  eyes  light  up  with 
pleasure,  and  he  calls  to  them  that  he  should 
like  to  come  up  and  play  with  them  too." 

"  Oh,  now  I  don't  believe  any  of  it  at  all," 
said  the  child  ;  "  I  thought  just  for  a  little  while 
you  might  know  how  to  see  all  those  funny 
things  in  the  fire,  but  you  can't  hear  people 
talk  in  the  fire." 

"  Oh,  my  dear  child,  you  don't  know  very 
much  about  the  fire  if  you  think  I  can't  see  any- 
thing I  want  to  in  it,  or  hear  anything  I  want 
to  either.  I  tell  you  I  can  hear  what  this 
dwarf  says,  just  as  plainly  as  I  can  see  him  walk 
about.  Still,  if  you  don't  believe  any  of  it  and 
don't  care  to  know  about  the  dwarf  and  the 
nymphs  and  the  gold,  perhaps  you  might  better 
go  and  study  your  multiplication  table,  and  I 
will  find  something  else  to  do." 

"  Oh,  but  I  do  want  to  know  about  them. 
Please  tell  me  some  more.  What  do  the 
nymphs  say  to  the  dwarf?  Can  you  hear 
that  too  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  can  hear  it ;  they  call  to  him  to 
come  up  and  play  with  them  if  he  likes,  and  he 
clambers  up  over  the  rocks  and  trees  to  catch 
one  of  them  after  another,  while  they  swim  and 


The  Stolen  Treasure  9 

glide  away  from  him,  and  find  it  much  better 
fun  than  chasing  one  another.  It  is  good  fun, 
no  doubt,  for  the  dwarf  cannot  swim  like  them, 
but  only  scrambles  about  in  the  most  ridiculous 
way,  with  never  any  hope  of  catching  one  of 
them,  except  when  she  lets  him  come  near  her 
for  a  moment,  to  plague  him  by  slipping  away 
again  quite  out  of  his  reach.  At  last  he  gets 
thoroughly  tired  and  discouraged  and  angry, 
while  the  three  sisters  laugh  at  him  and  taunt 
him  and  chatter  with  one  another,  and  have 
clearly  enough  forgotten  all  about  the  gold  that 
they  are  supposed  to  be  watching. 

"  But  see  now  how  much  brighter  the  fire  is 
getting.  It  makes  me  think  that  something 
must  have  happened  up  above  the  river.  The 
sun  must  have  risen,  or  something  of  that  sort, 
for  everything  looks  clearer  and  the  gold  shines 
out  so  bright  and  beautiful,  that  the  blear-eyed 
dwarf  himself  sees  it  and  forgets  all  about  try- 
ing to  catch  water  nymphs  in  wondering  what 
it  is.  He  asks  the  nymphs,  and  they  tell  him 
about  the  ring  that  could  be  made  of  it  if  only 
it  could  be  stolen  from  them  ;  but  it  is  of  no  use 
for  him  to  try,  they  say,  because  it  is  a  part  of 
the  magic  of  the  gold  that  it  can  never  be  stolen 
except  by  some  one  who  loves  nobody  in  the 
world  and  has  sworn  that  he  will  never  love 
anybody,  and  it  is  clear  enough  that  the  dwarf 
is  in  love  with  all  three  of  them  at  this  very 


io  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

minute.  When  such  a  strange  treasure  as  this 
was  to  be  guarded,  it  was  no  doubt  very  clever 
to  set  three  such  beautiful  creatures  as  these  to 
watch  it,  for  if  a  thief  were  not  in  love  already, 
it  is  a  hundred  to  one  that  he  would  be  before 
he  got  near  enough  to  the  gold  to  steal  it. 

"  But  the  nymphs  do  not  understand  at  all 
how  much  more  a  heartless  little  monster  like 
this  dwarf  loves  the  glitter  of  gold  than  he 
could  ever  possibly  love  them.  So,  even  while 
they  are  laughing  at  him,  he  is  forgetting  them 
completely,  and  then  he  swears  a  deep  oath 
that  as  long  as  he  lives  he  will  never  love  any 
living  thing.  Now,  if  you  can  think  of  anything 
that  anybody  could  do  more  wicked,  more  hor- 
rible, more  cruel  than  that,  you  must  know  a 
great  deal  more  about  wicked  and  horrible 
things  than  you  have  any  right  to  know.  Af- 
ter that  every  kind  of  wrong  is  easy,  and  a 
little  thing  like  stealing  a  lump  of  gold  of  the 
size  of  a  bushel  basket  is  a  mere  nothing.  The 
dwarf  scrambles  up  the  point  of  rock  again, 
while  the  nymphs,  who  think  that  he  is  still 
chasing  them,  swim  far  away  from  him,  and  he 
seizes  the  gold  and  plunges  down  to  the  bot- 
tom with  it.  The  nymphs  rush  together  again 
with  a  cry  of  horror  and  grief  and  fright,  and 
in  an  instant  everything  is  dark,  as  the  flames 
of  our  fire  suddenly  drop  down. 

"  But  you  see  they  fall  only  for  a  moment, 


'THE    GOLD    SHINES   OUT    SO    BRIGHT   AND    BEAUTIFUL. 


The  Stolen  Treasure  II 

and  now,  as  they  blaze  up  again,  brighter  than 
ever,  I  see  another  picture.  It  is  on  the  hill- 
top above  the  river.  The  grass  there  is  soft 
and  fresh,  the  trees  are  cool  and  green,  and  the 
mellow  light  of  morning  is  over  them  all.  A 
light,  white  morning  mist  comes  up  from  the 
river,  and  the  sun,  which  has  just  risen  from 
behind  the  purple  hills,  away  off  where  the  sky 
touches  them,  turns  the  mist  into  shifting  and 
shimmering  silver,  so  that  it  makes  the  whole 
scene  look  brighter  instead  of  dimmer.  On 
the  hill  across  the  river  is  a  glorious  sight.  It 
is  a  castle,  the  grandest  and  most  beautiful  you 
ever  saw.  Its  walls  are  thick  and  strong  enough 
for  a  fortress,  yet  its  towers  and  battlements 
look  so  light  and  graceful  that  you  would  think 
they  might  hold  themselves  up  there  in  the  air, 
or  rest  on  the  silver  river  mist,  if  there  were 
no  walls  under  them.  As  I  look  at  the  castle 
through  the  mist  it  seems  half  clear  and  solid 
and  firm,  and  half  wavering  and  dim,  myste- 
rious and  magical,  like  a  castle  in  a  dream. 

"  There  is  something  magical  about  it,  for  it 
was  all  built  in  one  night  by  two  giants,  and 
they  built  it  for  the  gods  themselves.  And 
now  you  must  be  prepared  to  meet  some  very 
fine  company,  for  right  here  before  us  are  the 
great  Father  and  the  great  Mother  of  the  gods, 
looking  across  the  river  at  their  splendid  new 
home." 


12  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

"  Do  you  mean  Jupiter  and  Juno  ?  "  the  little 
girl  asked. 

"  No,  these  are  not  Jupiter  and  Juno ;  and  the 
other  gods  whom  we  shall  see  soon,  if  the  fire 
burns  right,  are  not  the  gods  you  know  al- 
ready, but  they  are  a  good  deal  like  them  in 
some  ways.  The  Father  of  the  Gods  is  full  of 
joy  at  having  such  a  glorious  castle,  and  the 
Mother  of  the  Gods  is  full  of  dread  at  the  price 
that  must  be  paid  to  the  giants  for  building  it. 
A  terrible  price  indeed  it  is,  as  she  does  not 
hesitate  to  remind  him,  for  the  gods  have  prom- 
ised to  give  the  giants  the  beautiful  Goddess 
of  Love  and  Youth.  It  was  a  foolish  and  wick- 
ed promise  for  them  to  make,  foolish  because  if 
they  kept  it  they  could  never  in  the  world  get 
on  without  her,  and  wicked  because  they  did 
not  intend  to  keep  it.  The  homes  of  the  gods, 
like  any  other  homes,  would  be  dreary  enough 
without  the  Goddess  of  Love,  but  it  is  worse 
than  that,  for  she  has  a  garden  where  apples 
grow  for  the  gods  to  eat;  it  is  eating  these 
apples  that  makes  the  gods  always  young,  and 
nobody  but  her  knows  how  to  care  for  them, 
so  that  if  she  goes  away  the  gods  will  begin  to 
grow  old  at  once  and  will  soon  die." 

"  Were  the  apples  like  that — oh,  what  was  it? 
you  know  the  name  of  it — that  the  other  gods 
used  to  eat?" 

"  Ambrosia  ?     Yes,  something  like  it,  but  not 


The  Stolen  Treasure  13 

quite.  You  know  the  gods  who  ate  ambrosia 
would  live  forever  and  are  living  still ;  we  have 
seen  some  of  them  ourselves  up  among  the 
stars.  But  these  gods  have  to  eat  the  apples 
often,  and  they  must  get  them  from  the  God- 
dess of  Love.  This  is  much  the  better  story  of 
the  two,  I  think,  because  it  shows  us  how  gods 
and  other  people,  as  long  as  they  keep  love 
with  them,  will  be  always  young,  no  matter 
how  many  years  they  may  live ;  and  how, 
if  they  let  it  go  away  from  them,  they  will 
be  old  at  once,  no  matter  how  few  their 
years. 

"  All  this  the  Father  and  the  Mother  of  the 
Gods  are  talking  over  together  now,  and  he  tells 
her  how  the  Fire  God,  who  proposed  the  bargain 
in  the  first  place,  said  that  the  price  need  never 
be  paid  and  that  he  trusts  the  Fire  God  may 
yet  find  some  way  out  of  the  trouble.  Yet  the 
giants  must  be  made  in  some  way  to  give  up 
their  price  of  themselves,  for  the  Father  of  the 
Gods  has  the  words  of  the  promise  cut  upon 
his  spear,  and  he  cannot  break  a  promise  that 
he  has  once  made.  The  Fire  God  has  gone 
away  now  to  search  through  the  world  for 
something  that  may  be  offered  to  the  giants 
instead  of  the  Goddess  of  Love.  And  now  I 
see  her  come,  running  to  the  Father  of  the 
Gods  for  protection,  and  the  other  gods  are 
here,  to  help  her  if  they  can,  and  the  giants 


14  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

themselves  have  come  to  claim  her  for  the 
building  of  the  castle. 

"  Well,  to  be  sure,  they  are  all  in  a  fine  state 
of  excitement.  The  giants  are  big,  dreadful- 
looking  fellows,  with  clubs  made  of  the  trunks 
of  trees,  and  the  poor  goddess  does  not  want 
to  go  with  them  in  the  least.  All  the  other 
gods  declare,  too,  that  she  shall  not  go  with 
them,  and  the  giants  insist  that  she  shall.  The 
Thunder  God  is  there  and  he  has  a  wonderful 
hammer,  a  blow  of  which  is  like  a  stroke  of 
lightning.  He  is  about  to  strike  the  giants 
with  it,  and  that,  you  may  be  sure,  would  settle 
the  whole  matter,  big  as  they  are,  but  the  Fa- 
ther of  the  Gods  will  not  let  him  harm  them. 
He  has  promised,  and  whatever  happens  he 
cannot  break  his  word. 

"  While  everything  is  in  this  dreadful  state, 
the  Fire  God  comes  back  from  his  search.  It 
is  not  a  very  cheering  story  that  he  has  to  tell. 
He  has  been  through  all  the  world,  he  says, 
and  he  has  asked  everywhere  what  there  is 
that  is  as  good  for  gods  or  giants,  or  anybody 
else,  as  the  love  of  a  woman,  which  makes  those 
who  have  it  always  young.  But  the  people  in 
those  days  knew  more  than  a  good  many  of  the 
people  in  these  days,  and  everywhere  they 
laughed  at  him  and  told  him  that  he  might  as 
well  give  up  his  search,  for  he  would  never  find 
what  he  sought." 


The  Stolen  Treasure  15 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  '  the  people  in  those 
days '  ?  "  the  child  asked  ;  "  I  thought  you  said 
you  could  see  them  right  here  in  the  fire  now." 

"  So  I  can,  but  it  is  the  beauty  of  these  pict- 
ures in  the  fire  that  I  can  see  things  that  hap- 
pened years  ago,  thousands  of  years  ago,  if  I 
like,  just  as  well  as  things  that  happen  now,  and 
perhaps  a  little  better.  So  you  see  the  Fire 
God  has  not  had  very  good  luck,  but  as  he  was 
coming  back,  he  says,  he  passed  near  where 
the  river  nymphs  were,  and  they  called  to  him, 
telling  him  that  their  beautiful  gold  had  been 
stolen,  and  begging  him  to  ask  the  Father  of 
the  Gods  to  get  it  back  for  them.  They  told 
him,  too,  about  the  wicked  dwarf  who  stole  it, 
and  how,  before  he  could  steal  it,  he  had  to 
swear  never  again,  as  long  as  he  lived,  to  love 
anybody  or  anything.  The  Fire  God  seems  to 
have  heard  about  the  dwarf  somewhere  else, 
'too,  for  he  says  that  he  has  already  made  the 
magic  ring  out  of  the  gold,  that  by  the  help  of 
the  ring  he  has  compelled  all  the  other  dwarfs 
to  obey  him  and  serve  him,  and  has  piled  up 
such  a  treasure  of  gold  and  jewels  as  was  never 
seen  before  ;  and  finally,  that,  if  the  gods  are  not 
careful,  the  dwarf  will  soon  rule  over  them  and 
the  whole  world  besides. 

"  So  it  seems  that  there  is  one  person  in  the 
world  who  has  found  something  which  he 
thinks  is  worth  more  than  love.  And  there 


1 6  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

are  at  least  two  others  who  are  as  foolish 'as 
he,  though  they  may  not  be  quite  so  wicked. 
And  these  are  the  giants,  for  when  they  hear 
the  Fire  God  tell  of  the  wonderful  treasure 
that  the  dwarf  has  heaped  together,  they  say 
to  the  gods  that  they  think  the  dwarf  is  quite 
right,  they  would  rather  have  all  that  gold 
than  the  love  of  any  woman,  and,  if  the  gods 
will  get  it  for  them,  they  may  keep  their  God 
dess  of  Love  and  Youth.  The  Father  of  the 
Gods  hesitates ;  how  can  he  get  the  treasure  ? 
he  asks. 

" '  You  can  find  some  way  to  get  it,  if  you 
like/  the  giants  reply. 

" '  I  will  not  get  it  for  you  ;  you  shall  not 
have  it,'  says  the  Father  of  the  Gods. 

"  '  Then  we  will  hold  to  our  first  bargain,' 
they  answer,  '  and  take  your  Love  Goddess 
with  us.  To-night  we  will  bring  her  back  ;  if 
you  have  the  treasure  ready  for  us,  then  you 
may  keep  her ;  if  not,  then  you  have  lost  her 
forever.'  And  they  seize  her  and  stride  away, 
dragging  her  with  them,  while  the  gods  look 
on  in  grief  and  fear.  And  well  they  may  fear 
at  the  change  that  comes  as  soon  as  the  beauti- 
ful goddess  is  gone.  You  can  see  the  change 
yourself  in  the  fire.  If  it  did  not  fit  the  story 
that  I  am  finding  in  it  so  well,  I  should  say 
that  the  fire  needed  more  wood,  for  it  seems 
almost  out ;  see  how  the  blackened  sticks  are 


The  Stolen  Treasure  17 

smouldering  and  smoking,  with  scarcely  any 
bright  flames  at  all.  The  smoke  is  spreading 
like  an  ugly  gray  cloud  over  everything  ;  the 
trees  and  the  flowers  droop  ;  the  sky  is  dull 
and  the  grass  is  dingy  ;  the  castle  looks  grim 
and  heavy,  and  no  longer  bright  and  graceful ; 
the  faces  of  the  gods  themselves  grow  pale  and 
haggard ;  they  feel  that  they  are  suddenly 
older.  They  have  not  eaten  the  apples  of 
youth  to-day,  and  nobody  can  get  them  but  the 
one  goddess  who  has  gone.  They  know  that 
they  will  grow  older  every  hour  and  will  soon 
die  if  they  do  not  get  her  back,  and  the  only 
way  is  to  find  the  dwarf's  treasure  for  the 
giants. 

" '  Come  quickly/  says  the  Father  of  the 
Gods,  '  and  let  us  get  this  treasure  ;  let  us 
hasten  down  under  the  ground  where  the 
dwarfs  live,  for  we  must  have  it  to-night,  when 
the  giants  come.' 

"  There,  where  the  dirty  yellow  smoke  is 
pouring  out  between  the  sticks  of  wood  at  the 
top  of  the  pile,  I  see  a  crevice  in  the  rocks. 
The  Father  of  the  Gods  and  the  Fire  God  go 
down  into  it,  and  the  smoke  comes  thicker  and 
blacker,  and  hides  everything  but  those  two, 
and  I  see  them  climbing  down  and  down  over 
the  rough,  sharp  rocks,  toward  the  caverns  of 
the  dwarfs,  while  the  little  tongues  of  flame 
shoot  out  at  them  from  the  fissures,  as  if  they 


1 8  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

were  trying  to  catch  and  burn  and  sting  them, 
just  as  they  shoot  out  from  between  the  black, 
charred  sticks  here  before  our  eyes. 

"  It  is  a  deep,  dark  cave  that  I  see  now,  with 
little  spots  of  light  here  and  there,  like  forges, 
and  there  is  the  sound  of  anvils.  The  dwarfs 
live  here,  and  they  are  all  working  hard,  as  they 
must  now,  for  the  dwarf  who  stole  the  gold  and 
made  the  ring  from  it.  I  see  him  too,  and  he  is 
scolding  and  beating  another  dwarf,  who  is  his 
brother.  It  is  all  about  a  piece  of  fine  metal 
work  that  he  has  set  his  brother  to  do,  and  now 
the  brother  wants  to  keep  what  he  has  made. 
But  he  drops  it  on  the  ground  and  the  dwarf 
king,  for  a  king  he  really  is  now,  picks  it  up 
and  claps  it  on  his  head.  It  is  a  helmet,  made 
of  delicate  rings  of  steel  linked  together.  It  is 
a  magic  helmet,  and  anybody  who  wears  it  can 
disappear  from  sight  whenever  he  likes,  or  can 
take  any  shape  he  chooses.  In  a  minute  the 
dwarf  is  no  more  to  be  seen,  and  in  his  place 
there  is  only  a  cloud  of  smoke.  But  he  can 
still  beat  his  brother,  and  presently  he  leaves 
him  whining  and  crying  on  the  ground,  and 
the  cloud  floats  away. 

"  You  are  not  to  suppose  because  this  dwarf 
is  treated  in  this  cruel  way  that  he  is  any  better 
than  his  brother  who  beats  him.  One  of  them 
is  just  as  wicked  as  the  other,  and  he  deserves 
all  he  gets.  So  here,  lying  upon  the  ground 


The  Stolen  Treasure  19 

and  groaning,  the  two  gods  find  him,  as  they 
come  down  into  the  cave.  *  What  is  the  mat- 
ter?' they  ask,  and  he  tells  them  about  the  mag- 
ic helmet.  Then  back  comes  the  other  dwarf, 
who  wears  the  helmet  and  the  ring,  driving  be- 
fore him  a  crowd  of  his  fellows,  all  laden  down 
with  gold  and  gems,  and  they  throw  them  in  a 
pile.  They  are  so  rich  and  dazzling,  and  there 
is  such  a  quantity  of  them  that  the  fire  actually 
burns  brighter  there  in  the  corner  where  they 
have  heaped  them  up.  The  dwarf  drives  all 
his  workmen  away,  and  then  sulkily  asks  the 
gods  what  they  want  here,  for  with  his  ring 
and  his  helmet  he  thinks  that  he  is  just  as  good 
as  any  of  the  gods. 

"  The  Fire  God  tells  him  that  they  have 
heard  so  much  about  his  great  wealth  that  they 
have  come  to  see  it,  and  now  they  find  his 
treasure  greater  and  finer  than  anything  they 
ever  saw  before.  At  that  the  dwarf  is  flattered 
and  begins  to  boast.  '  This  that  you  see  is 
nothing,'  he  says ;  '  I  shall  soon  have  much 
more,  and  by  the  magic  of  my  ring  I  mean  to 
rule  the  whole  world  and  you  gods  too.' 

" '  But  suppose,'  says  the  Fire  God,  '  that 
some  one  should  steal  the  ring  from  you  while 
you  were  asleep?' 

"  '  That  shows  how  little  you  know  about  it,' 
the  dwarf  answers.  '  Why,  do  you  see  this 
magic  helmet  of  mine  ?  With  this  I  can  make 


2O  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

myself  invisible,  or  I  can  take  any  form  I  like, 
and  so  nobody  can  find  me  while  I  am  asleep  to 
steal  the  ring.' 

" '  Oh,  now  you  are  telling  us  too  big  a  story,' 
says  the  Fire  God ;  '  it  is  nonsense  to  say  you 
can  take  any  form  you  like,  helmet  or  no  hel- 
met ;  you  can't  expect  us  to  believe  that.' 

"  At  this  the  dwarf  begins  to  get  a  little 
angry ;  '  I  tell  you  I  can,'  he  cries ;  '  I  will 
prove  it  to  you ;  I  can  change  myself  into  any- 
thing ;  what  shall  it  be  ? ' 

"  '  Oh,  whatever  you  like/  says  the  Fire  God, 
'  only  let  it  be  something  big  and  horrible  to 
show  just  how  much  you  can  do.' 

"  So,  to  show  what  he  can  do,  in  a  second  the 
dwarf  changes  himself  into  a  horrible  dragon, 
with  slimy  scales  and  a  writhing  tail,  and  eyes 
and  jaws  that  look  as  wicked  as  the  dwarf  him- 
self, and  twice  as  savage.  The  Fire  God  pre- 
tends to  be  dreadfully  frightened,  and  when  the 
dwarf  comes  back  to  his  own  shape  again  he 
says :  '  That  was  very  good,  but  that  does  not 
seem  so  hard,  after  all.  Now,  the  way  for  you 
to  hide,  it  seems  to  me,  would  be  to  make 
yourself  very  small,  so  that  you  could  slip  into 
a  crack  in  the  rocks.  You  can  puff  yourself  up 
like  a  dragon,  of  course,  but  can  you  make 
yourself  small  as  easily  ?  Oh,  no,  I  cannot  be- 
lieve that.' 

"  *  I   can  be  anything,  anything,  I  tell  you,1 


The  Stolen  Treasure  21 

the  dwarf  cries,  getting  still  more  angry ;  '  1 
will  be  as  small  as  you  like,'  and  in  another 
second  he  has  changed  himself  into  a  toad,  not 
much  bigger  than  your  hand,  as  slimy  as  ever, 
looking  still  just  as  wicked  as  the  dwarf  himself, 
and  almost  as  ugly. 

"  '  Now  is  the  time — quick  ! '  cries  the  Fire 
God,  and  in  an  instant  the  Father  of  the  Gods 
stamps  his  foot  upon  the  toad  and  has  him  fast. 
The  Fire  God  stoops  and  pulls  the  magic  hel- 
met off  the  toad's  head,  and  instantly  he  is  the 
dwarf  again,  but  he  is  still  firmly  held  under 
the  god's  foot,  and  they  tie  him  with  cords  and 
drag  him  away  with  them,  up  among  the  rocks 
from  which  they  came." 

"  That  is  just  the  way  Puss  in  Boots  caught 
the  ogre,  when  he  turned  himself  into  a  mouse," 
said  the  little  girl. 

"  Yes,  to  be  sure  it  is,  but  you  know  there 
are  only  a  very  few  stories  in  the  world,  any 
way,  and  we  cannot  find  new  ones.  The  most 
we  can  ever  do  is  to  tell  the  old  ones  over  in 
different  ways,  and  after  all  it  is  better  so,  for 
old  things  are  better  than  new  almost  always, 
as  you  will  find  when  you  get  a  little  older 
yourself.  But  now,  with  the  fire  burning  up  a 
little  better  to  help  me,  we  are  back  above 
ground.  Let  us  put  on  more  wood  and  see  if 
we  cannot  make  it  better  yet.  We  are  just 
where  we  were  before,  on  the  hill  by  the  river 


22  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

and  the  castle  of  the  gods.  And  back  now 
come  the  two  gods  from  under  the  ground, 
dragging  the  dwarf  with  them.  'And  what 
will  you  give  us  now/  they  cry, '  if  we  will  untie 
you  and  let  you  go  ? ' 

"  '  What  must  I  give  you  ? '  he  asks. 

"  '  You  must  give  us  the  whole  of  your  treas- 
ure,' they  answer ;  'we  will  not  let  you  go  for 
anything  less.' 

"  That  seems  a  large  price,  but  the  dwarf  is 
as  crafty  as  he  is  wicked,  though  his  craft  sel- 
dom does  him  much  good,  and  he  thinks  that 
even  if  he  gives  up  all  his  treasure  he  can  soon 
pile  up  as  much  more,  with  the  help  of  the 
ring.  So,  by  the  power  of  the  ring,  he  calls  the 
dwarfs  to  bring  him  the  treasure,  and  up  they 
come  with  it,  out  of  the  cleft  of  the  rocks,  and 
they  pile  it  in  a  great,  glittering  heap  just  there 
where  the  new  fire  is  beginning  to  burn  so 
bright.  '  There  is  the  gold,'  cries  the  dwarf, 
'  let  me  go.' 

" '  Not  yet,'  says  the  Father  of  the  Gods ; 
'give  us  your  ring  first,  that  belongs  to  the 
treasure.' 

"  At  that  the  dwarf  screams  and  struggles 
and  writhes  and  curses  the  gods,  but  it  is  all  of 
no  use  ;  the  Father  of  the  Gods  tears  the  ring 
from  his  finger,  and  then  they  untie  him  and 
tell  him  to  take  himself  off  where  he  will.  And 
now,  as  he  goes,  he  lays  a  terrible  curse  on  the 


The  Stolen  Treasure  23 

ring.  To  every  one  who  shall  ever  gain  it,  he 
swears,  shall  come  ill  luck,  misfortune,  sorrow, 
terror,  and  death  ;  let  him  rule  the  world  if  he 
will,  never  shall  he  be  happy;  everyone  shall 
long  for  the  ring,  and  to  him  who  gets  it,  it  shall 
bring  misery  and  ruin.  Truly  the  dwarf  has 
gained  little  by  stealing  the  gold  from  the 
river  nymphs,  but  the  gods  have  done  wrong 
as  well  in  stealing  it  from  him,  and  they  are 
doing  wrong  still  in  not  giving  it  back  to  the 
nymphs  ;  so  they  must  suffer  too. 

"  But  it  is  not  yet  time  for  that,  for  now,  as 
the  fire  burns  up,  the  whole  picture  grows 
brighter  again.  That  is  because  the  giants  are 
bringing  back  the  Goddess  of  Love  and  Youth, 
to  see  if  the  treasure  is  ready  for  them.  The 
trees  lift  up  their  branches  again  and  the  happy 
sunlight  pours  down  through  them  ;  the  flowers 
open  their  eyes  to  see  it ;  the  sky  is  clear  and 
bright,  and  the  grass  is  again  fresh  ;  while  the 
faces  of  the  gods,  who  run  to  meet  their  sister, 
look  young  and  happy  as  before.  Only  the 
castle  is  still  hidden  by  the  shining  silver  river 
mist.  The  giants  have  come  near.  '  Is  the  ran- 
som ready  for  us  ? '  they  cry. 

" '  There  is  your  treasure,'  says  the  Father  of 
the  Gods,  '  take  it  and  be  gone.' 

" '  We  must  see  that  it  is  enough  first,'  they 
answer ;  '  our  treasure  must  be  as  much  as  your 
goddess,  so  you  must  pile  it  up  before  her  till 


24  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

she  is  quite  hidden  by  it ;  then  we  will  take  it, 
and  you  shall  have  her  back.' 

"  They  heap  up  the  gold  and  the  jewels  be- 
fore the  goddess,  higher  and  higher,  till  every- 
thing is  gone  from  the  old  pile  to  the  new  one. 
Then  one  of  the  giants  looks  over  it  and  still 
sees  the  gold  of  her  hair  above  the  gold  of  the 
treasure.  'Give  me  that  helmet  that  you 
carry,'  he  says  to  the  Fire  God,  '  to  put  on  the 
top,'  and  he  gives  it.  Now  the  other  giant 
peeps  through  a  chink  in  the  pile  and  sees  one 
of  her  eyes.  '  Quick,'  he  cries  to  the  Father  of 
the  Gods,  '  give  me  that  ring  you  wear  to  stop 
this  chink.' 

"  *  No,'  says  the  Father  of  the  Gods,  '  you 
shall  not  have  that ;  it  is  the  ring  that  gives  the 
power  to  rule  the  world,  and  I  will  keep  it.' 

"  '  Very  well,  then,'  say  the  giants,  '  we  will 
have  no  more  to  do  with  you,  and  we  will  take 
the  goddess  back  with  us.' 

"  All  the  gods  stand  terrified  and  pale.  Will 
their  great  father  let  the  Goddess  of  Love  be 
taken  from  them  again,  and  must  they  all  grow 
old  and  die,  that  he  may  keep  this  ring  ?  Every- 
thing grows  dark  again,  as  our  fire  here  drops 
down ;  only  there  is  that  pale  blue  flame  that 
gives  no  light,  away  at  the  back  of  the  hearth. 
And  now,  right  in  the  pale  blue  flame,  rises  the 
form  of  a  woman  out  of  the  ground.  It  is  the 
Earth  Goddess,  the  wisest  woman  in  the  world, 


The  Stolen   Treasure  25 

who  knows  all  that  ever  was,  all  that  is,  and  all 
that  ever  shall  be.  She  speaks  to  the  Father 
of  the  Gods  and  tells  him  to  give  the  ring  to 
the  giants,  for  the  curse  that  the  dwarf  has  laid 
upon  it  will  surely  destroy  him  who  keeps  it. 
Then  she  sinks  out  of  sight,  and  the  Father  of 
the  Gods  takes  from  his  finger  the  ring,  and 
gives  it. 

"  And  even  while  the  giants  are  stowing  the 
treasure  in  a  sack  to  carry  it  away,  they  fall 
to  quarrelling  about  how  it  shall  be  divided, 
and  one  of  them  strikes  the  other  a  terrible 
blow  with  his  club  which  lays  him  dead  upon 
the  ground.  Then  he  strides  away  with  the 
treasure,  leaving  the  gods  filled  with  horror 
at  the  first  fatal  work  done  by  the  curse  of  the 
ring. 

"  Yet  only  for  a  moment ;  their  grand  new 
castle  is  ready  for  them  now.  High  up  upon 
a  rock  stands  the  Thunder  God.  He  swings 
his  hammer  and  the  black  clouds  roll  around 
him.  The  thunder  mutters,  and  lightning 
flames  flash  out  from  the  dark  vapors.  The 
fire  flickers  and  blazes  up  again,  the  clouds 
part  and  melt  away,  and  all  is  light  at  last.  A 
rainbow  reaches  across  the  river  from  shore  to 
shore,  and  the  gods  slowly  walk  across  upon 
it  toward  their  castle.  Up  from  the  river,  far 
below  them,  comes  a  sad  cry  of  the  nymphs 
begging  the  gods  to  give  them  back  their  gold. 


26  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

But  the  gods  do  not  heed  it.  They  rest  upon 
the  rainbow,  gazing  only  at  their  castle,  as  it 
stands  before  them,  stately,  graceful,  radiant, 
and  rosy  in  the  warm  glow  of  the  sunset." 

"  And  did  you  really,  really  see  it  all  in 
the  fire  ?  "  the  little  girl  asked,  after  she  had 
thought  it  all  over  for  a  few  minutes.  "  It 
sounds  just  as  if  it  was  a  story  you  had  read 
in  a  book." 

"  Well,  perhaps  I  may  have  seen  something, 
or  heard  something,  or  read  something  of  the 
kind  somewhere,"  I  replied,  "  but  you  know  I 
told  you  at  first  that  you  must  think  of  the 
pictures  before  you  could  see  them  reflected 
in  the  fire." 

The  little  girl  sat  still  and  thought  about  it 
again  for  a  time.  "  I  don't  believe  you  saw 
any  pictures  in  the  fire  at  all,"  she  said  at  last. 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  GOD 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  GOD 

"  IF  you  say  you  can  see  all  those  things  in  the 
fire,"  said  the  little  girl,  with  an  air  of  doubt 
not  yet  quite  overcome,  "  I  suppose  I  shall  have 
to  believe  it,  but  I  don't  see  how.  I  try  to 
think  of  them  the  way  you  said,  but  I  don't  see 
them  in  the  fire  a  bit.  Can  you  see  them  all 
the  time  ?  " 

"  It  makes  a  good  deal  of  difference  how  I 
feel  about  it,"  I  answered,  "  and  a  little  differ- 
ence how  the  fire  burns.  To-night,  you  see, 
the  fire  does  not  burn  quite  as  it  usually  does. 
It  is  cold  out  of  doors,  and  there  is  a  wind  that 
comes  in  gusts  and  blows  different  ways.  It 
gives  the  fire  a  good  draught,  and  on  the  whole 
it  burns  rather  fiercely,  but  when  the  wind  goes 
down  the  fire  goes  down  a  little  too,  and  when 
the  wind  changes  it  blows  a  puff  of  smoke  down 
the  chimney  now  and  then.  Altogether  it  is 
not  a  well-behaved  fire  at  all,  and  I  am  afraid 
if  we  try  to  see  things  in  it,  some  of  them 
will  be  rather  rough  and  rude,  and  none  of 
them  very  cheerful.  Still,  if  you  would  like 
to  try " 


30  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

"  Oh,  do  try,"  the  child  said,  "  I  like  nice 
gloomy  things." 

"  Very  well.  Just  now  the  fire  is  so  fierce 
and  hot  that  it  seems  to  me  nothing  less  than  a 
house  on  fire.  It  is  a  house  that  stands  all 
alone  in  the  woods.  Before  it  was  set  on  fire  a 
boy  and  a  girl  lived  there.  Neither  of  them 
had  any  mother,  but  the  boy's  father  lived  with 
them  and  took  care  of  them,  going  out  hunt- 
ing and  leaving  the  boy  and  the  girl  together, 
till  the  boy  was  old  enough  to  go  hunting  with 
him,  and  then  the  girl  was  left  alone.  They  were 
very  happy  there  together,  all  three  of  them, 
and  the  father  always  thought  that  the  girl 
would  sometime  grow  up  and  be  his  son's  wife. 
But  now,  while  they  are  hunting,  a  robber  has 
come  and  has  burned  the  house,  and  he  takes 
the  girl  with  him  and  carries  her  off  to  his  own 
house,  far  away  among  the  mountains. 

"  After  this  it  is  not  so  pleasant  roaming  the 
woods  and  hunting  all  day,  with  no  house  to  go 
back  to  and  no  greeting  of  a  bright  face  in  the 
evening.  To  make  it  still  worse,  one  day,  while 
they  are  hunting,  the  poor  boy  loses  sight  of 
his  father  and  never  finds  him  again.  So  now 
he  is  quite  alone,  but  he  still  lives  in  the  woods 
in  the  old  way  till  he  grows  to  be  a  tall, 
strong,  handsome  young  man.  Perhaps  he  is 
all  the  stronger  and  the  better  fighter  because 
the  most  of  his  enemies,  and  his  friends  too,  for 


The  Daughter  of  the  God  31 

that  matter,  have  been  wild  beasts.  That  he 
has  had  one  good  enemy  I  know,  because  the 
coat  that  he  wears  is  the  skin  of  a  bear. 

"  And  all  this  time  the  girl  has  been  kept  a 
prisoner  at  the  house  of  the  robber,  and  she 
has  grown  up  as  well,  now,  to  be  a  tall,  beauti- 
ful woman.  At  times,  no  doubt,  the  robber  has 
treated  her  well  enough,  and  at  times,  I  am 
afraid,  not  so  well.  But  always  he  has  urged 
her  and  has  tried  to  make  her  promise  to  be  his 
wife,  and  now,  after  all  these  years,  at  last  she 
has  promised.  She  has  never  forgotten  the 
brave  boy  whom  she  used  to  love,  but  the  rob- 
ber has  told  her  that  he  is  dead,  and  finally  she 
has  come  to  believe  it  and  has  no  more  any  hope 
of  ever  being  happy. 

"  I  am  looking  right  into  the  robber's  house 
now.  It  is  a  strange  house,  for  right  in  the 
middle  of  it  stands  a  large  tree,  which  grows 
up  through  the  roof  and  spreads  its  branches 
over  the  house.  And  more  wonderful  still, 
there  is  a  sword  sticking  in  this  tree,  up  to  the 
hilt.  Perhaps  I  might  better  tell  you  something 
about  this  sword  before  we  go  any  farther.  Do 
you  remember  the  gold  that  was  stolen  from 
the  river  nymphs,  the  other  night,  when  we 
were  watching  the  fire,  and  the  magic  ring  that 
the  dwarf  made  of  it?  Of  course  you  do,  and 
you  remember  too  how  the  Father  of  the  Gods 
got  it  and  paid  it  to  the  giants  for  building  his 


32  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

castle,  and  would  not  give  it  back  to  the  river 
nymphs,  and  how  one  of  the  giants  killed  the 
other  and  kept  all  the  treasure.  Well,  the 
Father  of  the  Gods  has  been  learning  and  think- 
ing a  good  deal  since  then,  and  he  has  begun  to 
see  what  a  great  wrong  he  did  when  he  put  the 
gold  to  his  own  uses,  instead  of  giving  it  back 
to  the  nymphs.  It  is  no  light  punishment  that 
falls  on  gods  when  they  do  wrong,  and  he  sees 
that  for  this  sin  he  and  all  the  other  gods  who 
live  with  him  in  his  castle  must  at  last  be  de- 
stroyed utterly.  Yet  he  still  hopes  to  save 
them  if  only  the  gold,  or  at  least  the  ring,  can 
be  given  back  again  to  the  nymphs. 

"  Now,  the  giant  who  took  all  the  treasure 
carried  it  away  to  a  deep  cave  in  the  side  of  a 
mountain,  and  then,  by  the  help  of  the  magic 
helmet,  he  changed  himself  into  a  horrible, 
fierce,  fiery,  poisonous  dragon,  so  that  he  might 
stay  in  the  cave  and  guard  it.  And  there  he 
has  stayed  guarding  it  ever  since.  You  will 
see  at  once  that  the  treasure  never  would  do 
him  any  good  in  that  way,  but  giants  are  usu- 
ally stupid,  and  he  could  not  think  of  anything 
better  to  do  with  it.  A  boy  who  has  a  penny 
and  knows  enough  to  buy  a  penny  whistle 
with  it  is  richer  than  this  dragon  giant.  Yet 
he  guards  the  treasure  pretty  well,  and  the 
Father  of  the  Gods  cannot  take  it  away  from 
him,  and  cannot  help  anybody  else  to  take  it 


The  Daughter  of  the  God  33 

away  from  him,  because  he  paid  it  to  him  for 
the  castle,  and  to  touch  it  now  would  be  to 
break  his  promise.  Yet  he  wishes  that  some- 
body, without  his  help,  would  kill  the  dragon 
and  give  the  gold  back  to  its  real  owners. 
This  would  not  really  do  him  any  good,  for  his 
own  old  sin  would  still  be  just  as  great,  and  he 
knows  it ;  yet  he  has  a  strange  kind  of  hope  that 
it  may  somehow  help  him.  But  the  dragon  is 
so  big  and  fierce  and  fiery  and  poisonous,  that 
nobody  could  ever  hope  to  kill  him  except  the 
very  greatest  of  heroes,  and  one  who  simply  did 
not  know  what  fear  meant.  Even  such  a  hero 
might  have  a  good  deal  of  trouble  about  it,  if 
he  did  not  have  a  sword  that  was  just  as  keen 
and  strong,  just  as  sharp  and  firm  and  true  as 
himself.  So,  that  he  may  not  want  for  such  a 
good  blade,  the  Father  of  the  Gods  has  made  a 
magic  sword.  No  one  but  a  god  could  make 
a  sword  like  this,  and  he  has  driven  it  up  to  the 
hilt  into  the  great  tree  in  the  robber's  house. 
It  is  quite  safe  there,  for  the  magic  of  it  is  that 
nobody  but  the  bravest,  strongest,  truest  hero 
living  can  ever  draw  it  out,  but  for  him  it  will 
be  easy.  There  are  some  things  besides  draw- 
ing swords  out  of  trees  which  can  be  done  easi- 
ly by  men  who  are  brave  and  strong  and  true, 
and  which  no  other  man  can  do  at  all. 

"  All  this  time  I  have  been  looking  into  the 
robber's    house.      There  is    a  storm   outside, 
3 


34  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

worse  than  the  wind  that  is  troubling  our  fire. 
It  howls  above  the  house,  and  tears  at  the 
branches  of  the  tree,  till  even  the  great  trunk 
shivers  and  trembles  and  makes  the  roof  creak 
and  groan.  Suddenly  the  door  is  burst  open, 
and  in,  out  of  the  storm,  rushes  a  man,  and  falls 
before  the  fire  as  if  he  were  so  weary  that  he 
could  move  no  more.  Then  from  another  room 
of  the  house  comes  the  woman  who  has  prom- 
ised to  be  the  robber's  wife,  the  girl  who  once 
lived  in  the  house  that  the  robber  burned. 
When  she  sees  the  stranger  lying  before  the 
fire,  she  lifts  him  up  and  brings  him  a  big  drink- 
ing-horn, and  tells  him  to  stay  and  rest  till  the 
robber  comes  home.  Then  he  looks  at  her,  and 
she  seems  to  him  the  kindest,  the  sweetest,  and 
the  loveliest  woman  he  has  ever  seen. 

"  Soon  the  robber  comes  home,  and  he  asks 
the  stranger  what  he  is  and  how  he  came  here. 
Then  the  stranger  tells  him  all  the  story  that 
I  have  told  you  of  the  burning  of  the  house 
where  he  lived  with  his  father,  and  how  since 
then  he  has  wandered  the  woods  and  has  fought 
with  the  wild  beasts  and  with  his  enemies.  As 
soon  as  he  tells  that,  the  woman  knows  that  the 
boy  whom  she  used  to  love  so  long  ago  is  not 
dead,  but  is  sitting  here  before  her,  and  the 
hope  comes  to  her  that  he  may  take  her  away 
from  this  place,  so  that  she  may  not  have  to  be 
married  to  the  robber.  Then  she  asks  the 


The  Daughter  of  the  God  35 

stranger  why  he  is  unarmed,  and  he  says  that 
he  fought  to  rescue  a  woman  from  her  enemies  ; 
he  killed  some  of  them,  but  the  others  were  so 
many  that  they  broke  his  spear  and  his  shield, 
and  he  had  to  save  himself  from  them,  and  so 
it  was  that  he  came  to  this  house. 

"  At  this  the  robber  grows  red  and  pale  with 
anger.  He  has  heard  of  the  fight,  and  the  men 
who  were  killed  were  his  friends.  '  Stay  here 
to-night,'  he  says ;  *  while  you  are  in  my  house 
I  cannot  harm  you,  but  to-morrow  you  must  go 
out  and  fight  with  me  for  killing  my  friends.' 

"  The  robber  and  the  woman  have  gone 
away  and  the  stranger  is  left  alone.  Sad  and 
gloomy  enough  are  his  thoughts,  for  to-morrow 
he  must  fight  with  the  robber,  and  he  has  no 
sword,  no  spear,  no  shield.  The  fire  before 
him  dies  down,  as  our  fire  dies  down  too,  for 
the  moment,  and  as  all  his  hope  grows  darker 
and  colder.  And  then,  just  as  his  life  and  the 
world  and  the  future  seem  blackest,  the  woman 
comes  back.  Why  should  her  coming  bring 
him  hope  ?  He  could  not  tell,  perhaps,  yet 
her  very  presence  cheers  him  ;  misfortune  and 
death  seem  not  so  near  when  she  is  by,  and  not 
so  terrible,  even  should  they  come.  He  may 
not  know  why  it  is,  but  I  know,  and  so  do  you. 

"  She  hastens  to  him  and  shows  him  the 
sword  in  the  tree.  She  tells  him  of  its  magic  ; 
he  must  be  the  hero  to  draw  it  out,  she  says, 


36  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

and  then,  in  the  fight  to-morrow,  he  must  over- 
come  his  enemy  and  give  her  revenge  for  all 
she  had  suffered  from  him.  And  how  gladly 
he  will  do  her  bidding !  He  seizes  the  sword 
and  draws  it  quickly  out  of  the  tree,  while  her 
eyes  gaze  at  him  and  are  filled  with  joy.  The 
hero  has  come — her  hero.  He  holds  the  won- 
derful magic  sword  in  his  hand,  but  only  for  a 
moment  he  looks  upon  its  long,  gleaming,  beau- 
tiful blade.  Then  he  turns  to  her  again.  They 
twine  their  arms  about  each  other  and  together 
they  leave  this  hateful  house.  And  now,  of  a 
sudden,  it  is  as  if  their  two  hearts  were  all  the 
world,  as  indeed  they  are,  to  each  other,  for  all 
around  them  the  storm  was  stilled ;  the  winter 
is  gone  and  it  is  spring  ;  the  peaceful  moonlight 
fills  the  happy  woods  with  a  soft  glory ;  sweet 
airs  breathe  tenderly  on  them  and  on  the  flow- 
ers in  their  path  ;  quiet  voices  speak  to  them 
out  of  the  budding  trees  ;  and  so  together  they 
are  gone  into  the  forest. 

"  The  Father  of  the  Gods  has  done  more  than 
I  have  told  you  yet  to  guard  against  the  end 
which  he  knows  must  come,  in  spite  of  all  that 
he  can  do.  He  has  fancied  that  his  castle  might 
be  safer  if  he  were  to  fill  it  with  strong  warriors 
to  fight  for  him  in  any  need.  Therefore,  wher- 
ever battles  are  fought  he  sends  his  nine  daugh- 
ters to  choose  the  bravest  of  the  men  who  are 
killed  and  to  bring  them  to  his  castle.  Each  of 


The  Daughter  of  the  God  37 

these  daughters  has  a  horse  which  flies  through 
the  air  faster  than  any  bird.  When  the  fallen 
heroes  have  come  thus  to  the  halls  of  the  gods, 
they  are  brought  to  life  and  their  wounds  are 
healed  by  means  that  the  gods  know  how  to 
use,  and  they  live  there,  feasting  day  after  day 
with  other  heroes.  And  lest  they  should  forget 
their  old  skill  and  bravery  in  fighting,  every 
day  they  have  a  battle  and  many  of  them  are 
killed  and  chopped  to  pieces  by  the  others' 
swords,  but  at  sunset  they  are  all  alive  and  well 
again,  and  they  go  back  together  to  their  feast 
in  the  halls  of  the  gods. 

"  It  is  one  of  these  daughters  of  the  god,  one 
of  these  choosers  of  heroes,  whom  I  see  before 
me  now.  I  wish  that  I  could  make  you  see  her. 
She  is  more  than  a  beautiful  woman,  and  also 
she  is  less.  She  is  tall  and  her  form  is  strong, 
yet  light  and  buoyant.  She  is  dressed  all  in 
armor,  and  she  has  a  spear  and  a  shield  which 
gleams  and  glistens  like  a  beacon-light  for  an 
army.  She  herself,  as  I  see  her  here,  is  as 
graceful  and  as  full  of  warm  life  as  a  flame  of 
the  fire,  the  same  hot  glow  stirs  her  heart  and 
moves  her  to  the  same  eager,  free  action.  Her 
face  is  as  clear  and  pure  as  the  fire  itself,  and 
almost  as  radiant  as  her  silver  shield,  while 
the  gold  of  her  hair  breaking  from  under  the 
light  of  her  helmet,  outshines  them  all.  Beat- 
ing under  her  bosom,  thrilling  through  her 


38  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

form,  glowing  in  her  cheeks,  and  beaming 
from  her  eyes,  is  the  joy  of  life  and  strength 
and  beauty.  Yet  where  is  the  tenderness  that 
one  would  seek  in  a  woman's  eyes  ?  A  glad 
light  shines  in  hers,  but  it  is  not  softened  by 
any  kindly  ray  of  gentleness  or  mercy.  Where 
is  the  sweetness  of  a  woman's  lips?  Hers 
are  calm  and  beautiful,  but  they  tempt  no 
more  than  a  stain  of  blood  upon  the  snow. 
What  is  there  in  her  face  that  could  melt  into 
a  woman's  compassion  and  pity  ?  Her  face  is 
not  cruel,  not  unkind,  only  still,  stern,  and  pla- 
cid as  marble.  She  is  not  a  woman,  you  know ; 
only  a  goddess — a  war  goddess. 

"  Just  now  the  Father  of  the  Gods  is  telling 
his  daughter  of  the  fight  that  is  to  come  be- 
tween the  robber  and  the  hero  who  won  the 
sword,  and  he  commands  her  to  help  the  hero 
to  win.  She  is  delighted  at  this,  for  she  loves 
all  brave,  true  heroes  as  he  does,  but  she  has 
scarcely  left  her  father  when  the  Mother  of  the 
Gods  comes,  riding  furiously  through  the  air  m 
a  chariot  drawn  by  two  rams.  She  has  heard 
of  the  fight  too,  and  she  takes  quite  a  different 
view  of  it.  '  This  man  whom  you  would  save 
and  help,'  she  says,  *  has  taken  the  woman  away 
from  the  man  whose  wife  she  promised  to  be. 
Is  that  all  you  care  for  a  promise  ?  He  must  be 
punished  ;  you  must  help  his  enemy  to  kill  him.' 

"  You  see  she  cares  nothing  at  all  about  he- 


The  Daughter  of  the   God  39 

roes,  but  to  her  a  promise  is  a  promise.  And 
the  Father  of  the  Gods  himself  is  very  particular 
about  promises,  as  you  must  remember,  so  he  is 
forced  to  say  that  he  will  not  help  the  hero. 
But  that  is  not  enough  for  her ;  he  must  com- 
mand his  daughter  not  to  help  him.  She  shall 
not,  he  says,  but  that  is  not  enough  ;  he  must 
help  his  enemy  and  see  that  he  wins.  This 
is  hard  for  the  Father  of  the  Gods,  for  he 
loves  the  hero,  and  if  he  is  left  to  himself  he 
must  win,  with  his  magic  sword,  yet  he  cannot 
choose;  the  promise  has  been  broken,  and  he 
gives  his  word  that  the  hero  shall  die. 

"  The  Father  of  the  Gods  is  left  alone,  and 
again  his  daughter  comes  to  him.  He  tells  her 
sadly  that  she  must  help  the  robber  in  the  fight, 
and  that  the  hero  must  die.  She  is  as  sad  as 
he  at  this  command,  for  all  that  she  ever  wishes 
is  to  do  what  he  would  have  her  do,  and  she 
knows  that,  though  he  says  that  the  hero  must 
die,  yet  he  would  have  him  live.  But  his  word 
is  given,  and,  full  of  sorrow,  the  god  and  his 
daughter  part.  And  now  comes  the  hero  him- 
self, with  his  bride.  She  is  fearful  of  what  may 
befall  him  in  the  fight,  and  would  have  him  flee 
farther  away.  He  will  not  do  that,  and  he 
tries  to  cheer  her,  till  she  faints  and  sinks  down 
at  his  feet.  Then,  beautiful  and  sad,  but  still 
calm,  stern,  and  placid,  the  Daughter  of  the 
God  stands  before  him. 


40  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

"  '  Soon,'  she  says  to  him,  '  you  must  come 
with  me  to  the  castle  of  the  gods.  There  the 
Father  of  the  Gods  will  welcome  you,  there 
your  own  father,  whom  you  lost  so  long  ago, 
waits  for  you,  there  you  will  fight  and  feast 
with  heroes,  and  the  daughters  of  the  god  will 
serve  you.' 

" '  And  shall  this  woman  here,'  he  asks, 
'whom  I  love,  go  with  me  and  with  you 
there  ? ' 

" '  No,'    she    answers,    '  this    woman    cannot 

go-' 

"'Then  I  will  not  go,'  he  replies;  'gladly  I 
would  stand  before  the  Father  of  the  Gods, 
gladly  I  would  see  my  own  father  again  and 
the  heroes  and  the  daughters  of  the  god,  but 
not  without  her  ;  I  will  not  go  with  you ;  leave 
us  here.' 

"  If  the  daughter  of  the  god  were  a  woman 
she  would  understand  all  this,  but  now  it  would 
make  her  impatient,  if  anything  could.  She 
cannot  know  and  cannot  feel  why  this  man, 
who  has  had  only  trouble  and  ill  luck  all  his 
life,  should  choose  to  stay  and  wait  for  more 
trouble  and  ill  luck  with  this  one  poor  woman 
who  lies  at  their  feet,  fainting  and  knowing 
not  even  that  she  is  alive,  rather  than  to  sit 
and  feast  with  gods  and  heroes.  How  little 
a  war  goddess  can  really  know  about  brave 
men! 


The  Daughter  of  the  God  41 

"  Yet  she  does  know  that  her  father,  whose 
wishes  are  her  own,  wishes  this  woman  to  live, 
and  that  she  will  be  in  danger  after  her  hero 
has  left  her ;  so  she  tells  him  that  he  may  leave 
his  bride  with  her  and  she  will  protect  her. 
But  the  man  is  still  more  unreasonable.  He 
says  that  she  is  cruel  and  hard-hearted.  That 
is  unjust,  for  she  is  not  cruel.  He  says  too  that 
the  woman  shall  die  rather  than  be  left  with 
her.  If  he  must  die,  he  will  kill  the  woman, 
too,  and  he  is  about  to  do  it,  when  the  Daugh- 
ter of  the  God  holds  his  hand.  She  thinks  only 
now  of  how  much  her  father  longs  that  this 
man  may  live  ;  she  resolves  that  in  spite  of  the 
command  she  will  save  him  ;  she  tells  him  that 
he  shall  have  her  help  in  the  fight,  and  she 
leaves  him,  just  as  there  comes  a  noise  and  a 
shout  of  the  robber  with  his  men  and  his  dogs 
hunting  for  the  hero  to  kill  him. 

"  See  how  the  black  smoke  is  driven  down 
the  chimney  by  the  changing  gusts  of  wind. 
It  is  like  dark  clouds  gathering  over  the  sky 
and  dropping  down  upon  the  mountain,  so  that 
it  is  hard  to  see  anything  at  all.  The  fire  goes 
down,  too,  and  its  flames  dart  and  flicker  in 
sudden,  angry  flashes.  Some  of  them  are  like 
lightning,  brightening  the  whole  scene  for  an 
instant,  and  then  I  can  see  the  hero  and  the 
robber  in  their  fight,  springing  and  thrusting 
and  striking  at  each  other  so  that  it  seems  as  if 


42  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

they  must  both  be  killed  a  dozen  times  over. 
Again  in  the  sparkle  of  the  fire  I  see  the  gleam- 
ing  of  the  magic  sword,  as  the  hero  whirls  it 
above  his  head  and  strikes  at  his  enemy.  Then 
comes  a  flare  of  flame  that  shines  from  the 
shield  of  the  Daughter  of  the  God,  as  she 
throws  it  over  the  hero  to  protect  and  save 
him.  It  is  all  in  vain,  for  there  comes  a  hot, 
red  glow  in  which  for  an  instant  all  the  rest  is 
lost,  and  now,  in  the  midst  of  it  stands  the 
Father  of  the  Gods  himself.  The  daughter 
falls  back  helpless  before  him,  and  he  stretches 
his  spear  toward  the  hero.  The  magic  sword 
falls  upon  the  spear  and  is  shivered  to  pieces. 
Nothing  indeed  could  shatter  that  blade  but 
the  spear  of  the  god  who  made  it,  but  with  that 
spear  to  help  him  the  robber  springs  upon  his 
enemy  and  his  sword  is  through  his  heart,  and 
he  is  fallen. 

"  The  Daughter  of  the  God  has  come  back 
to  where  the  woman  lay,  she  has  lifted  her 
from  the  ground  and  has  laid  her  across  her 
horse's  saddle  as  if  she  were  dead ;  she  leaps 
upon  his  back  and  they  are  galloping  away  like 
the  wind.  The  Father  of  the  Gods  has  avenged 
the  broken  promise ;  he  has  killed  the  hero 
whom  he  loved,  and  now  he  turns  for  one  mo- 
ment toward  the  robber  whom  he  has  helped 
to  win  the  fight.  Only  once  the  god  waves  his 
hand  toward  him  and  the  robber  falls  dead  ;  he 


The  Daughter  of  the  God  43 

will  fight  and  kill  brave  men  no  more.  But  a 
harder  task  than  all  is  to  come  for  the  Father 
of  the  Gods  ;  how  shall  he  deal  with  his  own 
daughter,  who  has  disobeyed  him  ? 

"  The  fire  is  burning  a  little  better  now,  but 
it  does  not  yet  seem  to  be  quite  on  good  terms 
with  the  wind  outside.  The  smoke  is  going 
up  again  instead  of  down,  and  that  is  an  im- 
provement. It  rises  in  sudden  puffs  and  flur- 
ries, like  clouds  flying  across  the  sky  after  a 
storm.  The  shadows  of  the  clouds  fall  upon  a 
mountain  height,  a  rugged,  rocky,  wild,  beauti- 
ful place,  where  the  daughters  of  the  god  are 
meeting  to  ride  home  together  with  the  heroes 
they  have  brought  from  some  field  of  battle. 
Now  and  then,  as  the  quick  flames  leap  up  into 
the  smoke,  I  can  see  another  and  another  com- 
ing, riding  on  her  flying  horse,  racing  with  the 
driving  wind  and  the  hurrying  clouds,  each 
with  her  warrior  lying  before  her  across  her 
saddle,  and  so  alighting  here  and  joining  her 
sisters.  They  are  all  here  at  last  except  the 
one  Daughter  of  the  God  whom  we  have  seen 
before,  and  now  she  comes,  but  she  brings  no 
warrior  across  her  saddle,  only  the  poor  wom- 
an with  whom  she  fled  from  the  fight. 

"  She  tells  her  sisters  how  she  has  disobeyed 
their  father,  and  she  begs  them  to  protect  her 
and  the  woman  against  his  anger.  They  dare 
not  help  her  ,  never  has  one  of  them  done  any- 


44  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

thing  that  was  not  his  will.  What  can  she  do  ? 
He  is  coming  in  pursuit  of  her ;  sooner  or  later 
he  must  find  her,  but  she  may  at  least  save  the 
woman.  She  bids  her  flee  alone  while  she 
waits  with  her  sisters  for  her  father  and  her 
punishment  to  come.  Far  away,  she  tells  her, 
there  is  a  deep  forest,  and  in  the  forest  is  a 
cave  where  the  horrible  dragon  that  was  once 
the  giant  keeps  and  guards  his  treasure.  So 
much  does  the  Father  of  the  Gods  dread  the 
curse  that  the  wicked  dwarf  laid  upon  the  ring, 
and  the  doom  which  he  knows  is  coming  to 
himself  because  of  his  own  sin,  that  he  never 
wanders  there.  To  this  forest  she  must  go, 
and  there  she  may  find  a  refuge.  The  Daugh- 
ter of  the  God  gives  the  woman  the  fragments 
of  the  broken  magic  sword,  which  she  has 
brought  with  her  from  the  field  of  the  fight, 
and  bids  her  go. 

"  And  now,  with  angry  lightnings  flashing 
all  around  him,  comes  the  Father  of  the  Gods. 
Never  before  has  he  been  shaken  by  such  a 
storm  as  this.  His  daughter  whom  he  loved 
more  than  all  the  others,  has  disobeyed  him. 
Never  before  has  she  done  anything  but  that 
which  it  was  his  will  that  she  should  do.  Now 
she  has  known  his  will,  she  has  heard  his  com- 
mand, and  she  has  broken  it.  She  stands  be- 
fore him,  sorrowful,  but  still  calm,  stern,  and 
placid,  and  asks  what  is  to  be  her  punishment. 


The  Daughter  of  the  God  45 

She  has  brought  her  doom  upon  herself,  he 
answers,  and  now  she  must  be  a  war  goddess 
no  more,  but  only  a  woman.  He  must  kiss  her 
once,  and  all  the  strength  and  the  valor  and 
the  pride  of  the  goddess  will  be  gone.  Then 
she  will  sink  to  sleep,  and  here  on  this  rocky 
mountain  height  she  must  lie  till  some  man 
comes  and  awakes  her,  and  she  must  be  a  wom- 
an only  and  his  wife. 

"  Very  dreadful  this  seems  to  the  poor  war 
goddess,  but  it  is  because  she  has  never  been  a 
woman,  and  does  not  know  much  about  wom- 
en. To  me  it  does  not  seem  dreadful  at  all.  It 
is  much  better  and  sweeter  and  nobler,  I  be- 
lieve, to  be  the  best  that  a  woman  can  be  than 
the  strongest  and  greatest  and  proudest  that  a 
goddess  can  be.  And  I  hope  you  will  always 
remember  what  we  see  here  in  the  fire  to-night, 
and  if  you  ever  feel  that  there  is  any  danger  of 
your  being  a  goddess,  or  if  anybody  ever  tells 
you  that  you  are  one,  then  let  somebody  kiss 
you  and  make  you  a  woman. 

"  But  to  one  who  has  so  long  been  used  to 
wearing  armor  and  riding  through  the  air,  and 
choosing  the  bravest  of  the  fallen  heroes,  and 
bearing  them  to  the  castle  of  the  gods,  the 
change  may  well  seem  hard  to  suffer  at  first. 
So  the  Daughter  of  the  God  thinks  that  no 
heavier  punishment  could  have  been  found  for 
her.  Her  sisters  think  so,  too,  and  they  beg 


46  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

their  father  to  have  mercy  on  her,  but  he  stern- 
ly bids  them  be  silent  and  to  leave  him.  Now 
the  Daughter  of  the  God  tells  him  how  she 
tried  to  do  what  he  would  have  her  do ;  she 
knew  that  he  loved  the  hero  and  hated  the  rob- 
ber, and  that  his  command  to  her  was  given  un- 
willingly ;  she  hoped  to  gain  for  him  the  wish 
of  his  heart,  in  spite  of  his  words,  and  she 
threw  her  shield  over  the  hero. 

"  It  is  useless ;  he  cannot  stay  her  punish- 
ment now,  but  his  anger  is  all  gone  and  he  is 
filled  with  sorrow  like  her  own.  He  loves  her 
still,  more  than  any  other  daughter,  and  now 
he  will  never  have  her  beside  him  in  the  halls 
of  the  gods  again,  never  again  see  her  ride  to 
the  battle,  never  see  her  return  with  brave 
men  to  guard  his  house,  never  again  speak  to 
her  as  he  could  to  no  other,  and  tell  her  all 
that  is  in  his  heart,  never  again  see  her  glad, 
deep,  answering  eyes  look  into  his,  full  of  sym- 
Dathy  and  help.  One  thing  yet  she  begs  :  if  all 
that  they  have  been  to  each  other,  the  god  and 
his  daughter,  must  be  no  more,  if  she  must 
sleep  and  wait  here  for  an  unknown  husband  to 
wake  her,  she  prays  him  to  set  some  guard 
around  her,  a  wall  of  fire,  that  no  one  but  a 
brave  man,  the  bravest  of  men,  may  win  her 
for  his  bride. 

"  Yes,  he  will  do  this ;  she  shall  be  shut  in  by 
fire  and  none  shall  ever  come  to  her  but  the 


The  Daughter  of  the   God  47 

bravest  of  heroes,  one  who  knows  no  fear  at 
all.  No  one  who  fears  even  his  own  terrible 
spear,  that  spear  which  broke  the  magic  sword 
that  he  himself  had  made,  shall  ever  awake  her 
who  was  his  daughter,  and  now  is  to  be  his 
daughter  no  more.  He  draws  her  to  him  for 
one  last  time ;  he  kisses  her  lips  and  they  are 
silent ;  he  kisses  her  eyes  and  they  close.  He 
lays  her  on  a  bank  of  soft  moss ;  he  closes  her 
helmet  and  covers  her  with  her  shield.  Near 
by  her  horse  lies  upon  the  ground  asleep  too ; 
the  flowers  among  the  grass  and  in  the  crevices 
of  the  rocks  droop  their  drowsy  heads;  the 
winds  as  they  pass  make  no  noise.  He  touches 
the  point  of  his  spear  to  the  ground.  Instantly 
the  fire  springs  up ;  it  makes  a  fierce,  raging 
ring  around  the  rock  ;  surely  only  one  who 
knows  no  fear  can  ever  pass  it.  The  Father  of 
the  Gods  is  gone.  Now  we  can  see  nothing 
but  the  fire  streaming  up  and  exulting  in  its 
life  and  its  hot  defiance  of  all  but  the  bravest ; 
but  there  in  the  midst  of  it  lies  the  Daughter 
of  the  God,  asleep  till  her  lover  shall  call 
her  with  a  kiss  to  come  with  him  and  be  a 
woman." 

The  little  girl's  mother  had  come  into  the 
room  and  had  heard  the  last  of  the  story. 
"  Isn't  it  time,"  she  said,  "that  the  daughter  of 
somebody  else  was  asleep,  too,  if  she  wants  to 
grow  to  be  a  woman  ?  " 


48  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

"  It  is  late,"  I  had  to  admit.  "  Well,  the 
Daughter  of  the  God  is  safe  for  the  present. 
Perhaps  some  other  time,  when  we  have  a  bet- 
ter-behaved fire,  we  may  see  something  of  the 
lover." 


THE  HERO  WHO    KNEW 
NO   FEAR 


THE   HERO   WHO   KNEW   NO   FEAR 

u  DON'T  you  think  the  fire  is  very  good 
to-night  ?  "  the  little  girl  asked. 

"  Yes,  it  is  certainly  very  good  indeed,"  I 
admitted. 

"  I  should  think,"  she  said,  "  that  anybody 
that  could  see  things  in  fires  might  see  very 
nice  things  in  this  one." 

When  she  who  might  command  deigns  thus 
delicately  to  make  a  mere  suggestion,  it  is  the 
part  both  of  chivalry  and  of  loyalty  to  obey.  I 
should  feel  that  having  my  head  chopped  off 
was  altogether  too  good  for  me  if  I  hesitated 
at  such  a  time.  "  Come,"  I  said,  "  and  let  us 
see  wh?_i  the  fire  really  looks  like.  What  does 
it  look  like  to  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  it  doesn't  look  like  anything  at  all  to 
me,  only  just  the  fire.  What  does  it  to  you  ?" 

"  It  looks  like  a  fire  to  me  too,  but  it  is  the 
fire  of  a  smith's  forge.  The  place  where  it  is 
looks  half  like  a  room  and  half  like  a  cavern. 
It  is  all  of  rocks,  but  there  is  the  forge  and 
there  are  the  chimney  and  the  anvil  and  the 
bellows  and  all  sorts  of  smith's  tools." 


52  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

"  You  can  see  things  all  around  the  fire,  just 
the  same  as  in  it,  can't  you  ?  "  said  the  child. 

"  Oh,  to  be  sure ;  when  I  want  to  see  these 
things  that  make  themselves  into  stories,  I  can 
see  them  almost  anywhere,  only  I  think  the 
fire  is  a  particularly  good  place.  And  who  do 
you  think  is  working  at  the  forge?  It  is  an 
ugly  little  dwarf,  the  very  one  whom  we  saw 
the  other  night,  who  made  the  magic  helmet, 
the  brother  of  the  one  who  stole  the  treasure 
from  the  river  nymphs.  You  remember  he  was 
a  clever  smith,  else  he  never  could  have  made 
that  wonderful  helmet.  Now  he  is  at  work 
here  trying  to  make  a  sword.  And  he  does 
make  a  sword  too,  but  he  does  not  seem  pleased 
with  it  when  it  is  finished,  and  he  leaves  off  his 
work  and  sits  down,  with  a  very  dissatisfied, 
sulky,  ugly  look  in  his  face. 

"  It  would  be  hard  for  anybody  to  look  more 
unlike  the  dwarf  than  the  person  I  see  now 
coming  into  the  cave.  He  is  a  boy,  or  perhaps 
he  would  rather  be  called  a  young  man,  and  I 
shall  be  glad  to  call  him  whatever  he  likes.  He 
is  dressed  in  skins  and  wears  a  little  silver 
horn  at  his  side.  If  the  dwarf  is  short  and 
ugly,  he  is  tall  and  handsome ;  if  the  dwarf's 
face  has  a  scowl  of  wicked  hatred  and  cunning, 
his  has  a  smile  that  beams  with  kindliness 
and  candor ;  if  the  dwarf  is  old  and  crooked 
and  rough  and  hairy,  he  is  young  and  straight 


The  Hero  Who  Knew  No  Fear      53 

and  graceful  and  fair.  In  short,  you  surely 
never  saw  a  young  man  who  looked  more  free, 
happy,  generous,  noble,  strong,  and  bold  than 
he.  It  makes  one  more  good-humored  to  look 
at  him,  and  the  sunlight  follows  him  straight 
into  the  cave.  Something  else  follows  him  too, 
for  he  is  leading  a  big  brown  bear  by  a  cord 
twisted  around  its  neck.  He  sends  the  bear 
at  the  dwarf,  who  screams  and  runs  away  in 
terror.  The  young  man  seems  to  have  caught 
the  bear  in  the  woods  just  to  frighten  the  dwarf, 
and  he  lets  it  go  again  when  the  dwarf  tells 
him  that  the  sword  is  finished  and  ready  for 
him.  He  takes  the  sword  and  looks  at  it  scorn- 
fully. It  is  good  for  nothing,  he  says.  He 
strikes  it  upon  the  anvil  and  breaks  it  into  a 
dozen  pieces.  He  is  a  little  particular  about 
his  swords ;  he  does  not  like  them  unless  he 
can  chop  anvils  with  them. 

"  Before  we  try  to  see  any  more,  perhaps  I 
ought  to  tell  you  something  about  this  wonder- 
ful youth  and  why  he  lives  here  in  the  cave 
with  the  dwarf.  He  was  born  here.  This  is 
the  forest  where  the  treasure  is  hidden  that 
was  paid  to  the  giants  for  building  the  castle 
of  the  gods.  It  is  guarded,  as  you  know,  by 
the  giant  who  killed  his  brother  so  that  he 
might  have  the  whole  of  it,  and  he  has  changed 
himself  into  a  horrible  dragon,  by  the  magic 
helmet,  so  that  he  may  guard  it  better.  The 


54  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

young  man's  mother  was  the  woman  whom  the 
Daughter  of  the  God  sent  away  into  this  forest 
to  save  her  from  the  anger  of  the  Father  of  the 
Gods,  as  you  remember.  She  took  refuge  here 
in  the  dwarf's  cave  and  she  died  soon  after  her 
son  was  born,  and  then  the  dwarf  kept  the  boy 
and  brought  him  up.  But  it  was  not  because 
he  cared  for  him  at  all  or  had  the  least  kindly 
feeling  for  anybody.  It  was  just  because  he 
wanted,  as  so  many  others  wanted,  that  rich 
treasure  and  the  magic  helmet  and  the  magic 
ring  with  the  curse  upon  it. 

"  Now,  you  see,  the  boy's  mother  gave  him 
the  pieces  of  the  broken  magic  sword  and  told 
him  to  keep  them  for  the  boy.  He  knew  some- 
thing about  the  sword  and  so  he  got  it  into  his 
head  that  this  was  the  very  sword  that  would 
sometime  kill  that  dragon.  And  since  this  boy 
was  to  have  the  sword,  he  thought,  too,  that  he 
might  very  likely  grow  up  to  be  the  man  who 
would  kill  the  dragon.  Do  you  see,  then,  why 
he  has  kept  him  and  fed  him  and  brought  him 
up  so  carefully  ?  It  was  just  because  he  was 
so  cunning  and  cruel  and  selfish  that  he  took 
good  care  of  the  boy.  He  knew  very  well  that 
he  himself  would  never  dare  to  go  near  enough 
to  that  dragon  for  it  to  breathe  on  him,  but  he 
thought :  '  Some  day  I  will  give  this  boy  the 
magic  sword  and  make  him  go  and  kill  the 
monster  with  it,  and  then  I  will  kill  him  and 


rHE    SUNLIGHT    FOLLOWS   HIM    STRAIGHT   INTO   THE   CAVE. 


Tk^  Hero  Who  Knew  No  Fear      55 

^et  all  the  treasure,  with  the  helmet  and  the 
ring,  and  then  I  shall  be  the  ruler  of  all  the 
dwarfs,  of  men,  of  the  gods  themselves,  and  of 
the  whole  world.' 

"  So  the  baby  that  the  dwarf  took  and  tended 
at  first  has  grown  to  be  this  noble,  brave,  gen- 
erous  young  man,  and  he  hates  the  dwarf  as 
anyone  as  good  and  strong  as  he  must  hate 
anything  so  cowardly  and  mean  and  wicked. 
All  these  years  the  dwarf  has  never  told  him 
anything  about  his  mother  or  how  he  came  to 
be  living  with  him  here  in  the  cave.  But  now 
of  a  sudden  the  young  man  asks  the  dwarf 
some  questions  and  shows  that  he  means  to 
treat  him  very  roughly  if  he  does  not  answer 
them.  So  the  dwarf  tells  him  a  little  of  what  I 
have  told  you,  and  to  prove  that  what  he  says 
about  his  mother  is  true  he  shows  him  the 
pieces  of  the  broken  sword. 

"  The  young  man  gets  interested  in  these  at 
once,  you  may  be  sure.  'That  was  a  good 
sword/  he  cries ;  '  that  is  the  sword  I  must 
have;  mend  it  for  me,  dwarf,  and  mend  it 
quickly.  I  will  go  into  the  forest,  and,  if  it  is 
not  done  when  I  come  back,  you  shall  be  sorry 
that  you  worked  so  badly.' 

"  Then  away  he  goes  to  play  with  the  bears, 
perhaps,  in  the  forest.  Now  you  can  be  quite 
sure  that  the  dwarf  has  not  kept  that  broken 
sword  all  these  years  without  ever  trying  to 


56  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

mend  it.  He  has  tried  many  times,  and  he  can 
no  more  put  the  pieces  together  than  he  can 
look  as  handsome  as  the  fiery  youth  who  has 
just  left  him  here  frightened  half  to  death.  So 
he  simply  sits  down  and  lets  himself  get  more 
frightened  till  he  looks  up  and  finds  that  he 
has  a  visitor. 

"  The  visitor  is  a  tall  old  man  whom  he  does 
not  know,  but  I  know  him  ;  he  is  the  Father  of 
the  Gods.  He  asks  the  dwarf  to  let  him  sit 
down  and  rest,  but  the  dwarf  is  even  more  ill- 
natured  than  usual  and  bids  him  go  away  and 
not  trouble  him.  The  Father  of  the  Gods  re- 
plies that  he  might  perhaps  tell  the  dwarf 
something  that  would  be  of  use  to  him  if  he 
would  let  him  stay.  Now  you  see  what  a  good 
chance  this  would  be  for  the  dwarf  to  ask  how 
to  mend  the  broken  sword,  but  he  is  so  cross 
and  surly  that  he  thinks  of  nothing  but  how  to 
be  as  disagreeable  as  possible,  so  he  says  that 
he  knows  all  that  he  needs  to  know  and  does 
not  care  to  learn  from  anybody.  But  the  Fa- 
ther of  the  Gods  persists ;  he  will  give  the 
dwarf  his  head,  he  says,  if  he  cannot  answer 
any  three  questions  that  he  may  ask  him.  This 
pleases  the  dwarf,  for  he  thinks  it  would  be  a 
pleasure  to  him  to  cut  off  somebody's  head. 
'  What  people,  then,'  he  asks  for  his  first  ques- 
tion, '  live  under  the  ground  ?  ' 

" '  The   dwarfs,'  says  the  stranger ;   '  one  of 


The  Hero  Who  Knew  No  Fear      57 

them  had  a  ring  once,  by  which  he  ruled  all 
the  others.' 

" '  And  what  people/  asks  the  dwarf,  '  live 
upon  the  mountains  ?  ' 

" '  The  giants  ;  one  of  them,  in  the  form  of  a 
dragon,  has  the  ring  now.' 

" '  And  who  live  up  among  the  clouds  ?  ' 

" '  The  gods,'  says  the  stranger,  '  and  the  Fa- 
ther of  the  Gods  has  a  spear  with  which  he 
rules  the  world.' 

"  As  he  says  that,  he  lets  the  end  of  the  spear 
which  he  carries  drop  upon  the  ground  and 
instantly  there  is  a  peal  of  thunder. 

" '  Now,'  says  the  stranger,  '  as  I  have  saved 
my  head,  you  must  pledge  me  yours  to  answer 
the  three  questions  which  I  shall  ask.  Who  is 
the  strongest  of  heroes  whom  the  Father  of 
the  Gods  loves? ' 

"  The  dwarf  answers  that  he  thinks  it  must 
be  the  son  of  the  woman  who  died  long  ago  in 
the  forest,  who  will  kill  the  dragon  and  win 
the  treasure.  This  is  a  good  answer,  and  the 
stranger  asks  again :  '  What  sword  must  he 
use  to  kill  the  dragon  ? ' 

"  What  easy  questions  these  are,  to  be  sure ! 
The  dwarf  says  at  once :  '  The  magic  sword 
that  the  Father  of  the  Gods  made.' 

"  Now  the  stranger  looks  stern  and  says : 
*  But  who  shall  mend  the  sword  that  it  may 
be  fit  for  the  fight  ? ' 


58  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

"  At  this  the  dwarf  is  frightened  indeed.  He 
cries  out  in  terror  that  he  cannot  do  it,  he 
knows  no  better  smith  than  himself,  and  he  does 
not  see  how  it  can  be  done.  '  Then  you  should 
have  asked  me  that,'  says  the  stranger,  '  instead 
of  foolish  questions  about  things  that  you  knew 
already.  Yet  I  will  tell  you :  as  none  but  the 
best  of  heroes  could  pull  that  sword  out  of  the 
tree  where  it  once  stuck,  so  now  none  but  a 
hero  who  knows  no  fear  can  put  its  broken 
pieces  together.  Your  poor  head,  which  be- 
longs to  me,  I  will  leave  to  the  same  hero,  and 
so  good-by.' 

"  The  dwarf  falls  upon  the  ground  in  a  trem- 
bling heap,  and  so  the  young  man  finds  him 
when  he  comes  back  to  ask  if  he  has  yet  mend- 
ed the  sword.  '  I  can  never  mend  it,'  he  cries. 
'  Have  you  ever  known  fear?  ' 

"  '  Fear  ? '  he  answers  ;  '  no,  what  is  fear  ?  Is 
it  something  I  ought  to  know  how  to  do,  some- 
thing you  ought  to  have  taught  me  and  have 
not  ?  Is  it  a  pleasant  thing  to  have  or  to  know 
or  to  do  ?  What  is  it  like  ?  ' 

"  '  I  cannot  teach  you  fear/  says  the  dwarf, 
'  but  I  know  one  who  can,  or  else  you  never 
can  learn  it.  It  is  the  dragon  that  lives  in  the 
cave  at  the  end  of  the  wood.  I  will  take  you 
to  him  and  if  he  will  not  teach  you  fear  then 
you  may  kill  him.' 

"  '  Very  well,'  says  the  young  man, '  I  will  go ; 


The  Hero  Who  Knew  No  Fear      59 

but  first  mend  the  sword  for  me ;  I  shall  need 
it.' 

"  '  I  cannot  mend  it  for  you/  the  dwarf  an- 
swers ;  '  only  one  who  does  not  know  how  to 
fear  can  do  that/ 

"  '  Then  I  must  do  it  myself,'  says  the  young 
man,  and  he  sets  about  it  at  once. 

"  The  fire  on  that  forge  has  never  been  so  hot 
and  the  fire  here  on  our  hearth  has  never  been 
so  bright  as  now  when  the  young  man  who 
knows  no  fear  blows  the  bellows.  While  the 
coals  under  that  eager  blast  shine  redder  and 
redder  and  then  whiter  and  whiter  he  begins  fil- 
ing the  pieces  of  the  sword  to  powder.  The 
dwarf  cries  out  to  him  that  that  is  not  the  way 
to  mend  a  sword;  but  this  is  not  a  common 
sword,  and  the  dwarf  has  shown  well  enough  al- 
ready that  he  knows  nothing  about  mending  it. 
So  the  young  smith  pays  no  attention  to  him, 
but  goes  on  with  his  work.  In  mending  magic 
swords,  just  as  in  some  other  things,  knowing 
how  at  the  start  does  not  count  for  so  much  as 
not  knowing  any  fear. 

"  So  without  any  fear  the  young  man  melts 
the  filings  of  the  sword  with  the  splendid  fire 
which  you  can  surely  see  just  as  well  as  any- 
body, and  pours  the  melted  metal  into  a  mould 
of  the  shape  of  a  sword  blade.  By  this  time 
the  dwarf  has  found  that  it  is  of  no  use  to  inter- 
rupt him  and  has  begun  to  think  about  his  own 


60  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

work.  When  the  dragon  has  been  killed,  he 
thinks,  the  hero  will  be  hot  and  tired,  and  then 
he  will  offer  him  something  to  drink.  It  will 
be  poison,  the  hero  will  die,  and  then  he,  the 
poor  dwarf,  who  has  worked  and  waited  all 
these  years  for  this  day,  will  have  all  the  treas- 
ure, with  the  magic  helmet  and  the  ring.  So  he 
sets  himself  to  brewing  the  poison  by  the  very 
same  fire  that  the  young  man  is  using  to  forge 
his  sword. 

"And  now  the  young  man  has  heated  the 
sword  again  and  shaped  it  with  hammers  and 
cooled  it  with  water,  he  is  sharpening  and  polish- 
ing the  blade  and  fitting  it  to  the  hilt,  and  now  at 
last  he  holds  it  in  his  hand  and  it  is  done.  He 
has  forged  the  magic  sword  and  has  proved  his 
right ;  he  is  the  true  hero,  the  hero  who  knows 
no  fear.  And  is  there  anything  that  such  a  hero 
loves  better  than  a  good  sword  ?  Yes,  to  be 
sure  ;  but  to  this  hero  the  time  for  that  has  not 
come  yet,  and  he  has  never  felt  such  delight  as 
fills  him  now  when  he  looks  along  the  bright, 
smooth,  keen  edge  of  this  blade.  Oh,  the  sword 
was  not  like  this  before  it  was  broken.  Some- 
times people  say  that  beautiful  polished  things 
are  like  mirrors,  but  this  sword  is  like  a  flame. 
It  burns  and  twinkles  as  he  holds  it  and  turns 
it  in  his  hand.  I  can  scarcely  see  of  what  shape 
it  is,  for  now  it  shines  like  a  straight  beam  of 
light,  now,  as  he  twists  it,  there  is  a  flash  in  a 


The  Hero  Who  Knew  No  Fear      61 

half  circle,  like  a  scymitar,  and  again  the  point 
alone  gleams  out  and  flashes,  as  if  it  would  find 
its  own  way  to  the  heart  of  a  foe,  with  no  hand 
to  guide  it.  He  swings  the  sword  above  his 
head,  as  he  did  the  other  that  the  dwarf  made 
for  him,  and  strikes  it  upon  the  anvil.  And  this 
time  the  anvil  falls  in  two  as  if  it  were  made  of 
paper,  and  the  sword  glitters  and  shines  and 
shimmers  in  the  joy  of  its  magic  sharpness  and 
strength. 

"  Now  that  the  sword  is  ready,  the  dwarf 
leads  the  young  man  away  through  the  woods, 
a  long  journey,  to  a  place  where  he  has  never 
been  before,  to  find  the  dragon.  You  see  that 
deep,  dark  hole  under  the  sticks ;  that  is  the 
dragon's  cave  in  the  side  of  the  mountain.  Just 
a  little  light  shines  at  the  very  bottom  of  it, 
where  the  dragon  is  resting  and  breathing  out 
fire.  'There  is  his  hole,'  says  the  dwarf;  'just 
wait  here  till  he  comes  out  and  then  kill  him. 
Look  out  for  his  teeth  or  he  will  catch  you  and 
eat  you ;  be  careful  about  his  breath,  for  it  is 
fiery  and  poisonous ;  beware  of  his  tail,  for  he 
may  wind  it  around  you  and  crush  you.' 

" '  I  do  not  care  for  his  teeth  or  his  breath  or 
his  tail,'  says  the  young  man ;  '  I  only  want  to 
find  his  heart.  Leave  me  here,  and  never  let 
me  see  you  again.' 

"  The  dwarf  goes  away  and  the  young  man 
sits  down  on  the  grass  to  wait  for  the  dragon. 


62  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

You  see,  since  he  knows  nothing  at  all  about 
fear  it  does  not  seem  to  him  such  a  great  thing 
to  kill  a  dragon.  He  does  not  care  much 
whether  he  kills  it  or  not,  and  he  is  in  no  hurry 
about  it.  So  he  sits  on  the  grass  and  looks 
at  the  gray  old  rocks  and  the  bright  young 
flowers  about  him,  sees  the  golden  sunlight 
falling  in  little  spots  and  flecks  through  the 
branches,  feels  the  cool,  fresh  morning  air,  and 
hears  the  soft  rustle  of  the  trees  and  the  singing 
of  the  birds.  Most  of  all,  he  listens  to  the  birds 
that  flutter  about  in  the  branches  above  him,  as 
the  sparks  hover  over  the  fire  there,  before 
they  fly  away  up  the  chimney,  and  in  particular 
to  one  bird,  right  over  his  head  in  the  tree.  It 
sings  so  loudly  and  so  clearly  that  it  seems  to 
be  talking  to  him,  only,  of  course,  he  cannot 
understand  what  it  says.  He  has  wished  for  a 
long  time  that  he  might  have  some  better  com- 
pany than  the  ugly  dwarf,  and  he  thinks  now 
that  he  should  like  to  talk  with  the  bird. 

"  If  he  cannot  understand  the  bird,  perhaps 
the  next  best  thing  would  be  to  make  the  bird 
understand  him,  so  he  makes  a  pipe  out  of  a 
reed  and  tries  to  play  upon  it  something  like 
the  bird's  song.  I  don't  know  what  he  thinks 
he  is  saying  to  the  bird  with  his  reed,  and  he 
seems  not  much  pleased  with  it  himself,  for  he 
throws  it  away  and  blows  a  ringing,  echoing 
blast  on  his  horn  instead.  And  now  he  gets  an 


The  Hero  Who  Knew  No  Fear      63 

answer,  for  this  time  he  has  awakened  the 
dragon,  and  it  comes  out  of  its  cave  to  see  what 
is  making  so  much  noise  so  early  in  the  morn- 
ing. 

"  Oh,  but  it  is  an  ugly-looking  monster  !  It 
is  something  like  a  snake,  but  more  like  a  giant 
lizard.  It  has  scales  all  over  its  body  and  it 
has  a  long,  shiny  tail.  It  walks  clumsily,  be- 
cause its  legs  are  too  small  for  it,  and  writhes 
and  wriggles  itself  along,  raising  its  head  now 
and  then  to  look  about,  and  breathing  out  red 
fire  and  black  smoke  like  a  blast  from  a  furnace. 
When  its  poisonous  breath  has  blown  this 
smoke  away  for  an  instant,  it  shows  two  rows  of 
teeth  like  knives  and  a  long  forked  tongue  like 
a  snake's,  and  its  jaws  are  opened  wide  enough 
to  take  the  young  man  into  them  and  bite  him 
into  a  dozen  pieces  at  one  snap.  Surely  if  he 
is  ever  to  learn  what  fear  is  now  is  his  chance. 

"  He  sees  all  this  just  as  plainly  as  I  see  it 
here  in  the  fire  ;  but  do  you  think  he  is  afraid  ? 
Why,  he  simply  laughs  at  the  monster.  '  A 
pleasant-looking  fellow  you  are,'  he  says ;  '  can 
you  teach  me  what  fear  is?  If  you  cannot,  I 
shall  prick  you  with  my  sword  to  make  you 
think  about  it.' 

"  Now,  this  dragon  can  talk  just  as  well  as  it 
could  when  it  was  a  giant,  so  it  begins  to  get 
angry  and  tells  the  impudent  young  man  to 
come  on  and  see  what  he  can  do  with  his  little 


64  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

tailor's  needle  of  a  sword.  He  does  not  have  to 
be  asked  twice,  and  in  a  minute  there  is  just  as 
lively  a  fight  as  you  ever  saw.  The  dragon 
tries  to  breathe  fire  upon  the  hero  and  scorch 
him  up  to  a  black  cinder,  but  he  does  not  want 
to  be  a  cinder  and  he  runs  around  to  the 
dragon's  side.  Then  the  dragon  tries  to  catch 
him  with  its  long  slimy  tail,  so  that  it  may 
crush  him  to  a  jelly,  but  he  does  not  want  to  be 
a  jelly  either,  so  as  soon  as  the  tail  comes  near 
enough  he  gives  it  a  terrible  wound  with  his 
sword,  and  then  runs  back  in  front  of  the 
dragon.  The  monster  gives  a  dreadful  roar  as 
it  feels  the  wound,  and  raises  its  head  and 
breast  high  up  in  the  air,  striking  at  the  hero 
with  its  long,  sharp  claws  and  trying  to  throw 
the  whole  weight  of  its  body  upon  him.  This 
is  just  what  he  has  been  watching  for,  and  as 
the  dragon  lifts  itself  before  him  he  drives  his 
sword  clear  through  its  heart. 

"  Then  he  springs  lightly  away  again,  as  the 
dragon,  with  another  horrible  bellow,  falls  down 
and  rolls  over  upon  its  side.  '  It  is  the  curse 
of  the  ring  that  has  killed  me,'  says  the  dragon, 
as  it  dies ;  '  my  treasure  is  there  in  the  cave ; 
you  can  take  it  now,  bold  boy,  but  the  curse  of 
the  ring  will  bring  death  to  you,  as  it  has 
brought  it  to  me.' 

"  So  the  dragon  lies  dead.  The  young  hero 
seizes  the  hilt  of  the  sword  to  draw  it  from  the 


The  Hero  Who  Knew  No  Fear      65 

dragon's  body,  and  as  he  pulls  it  out  the  blood 
from  the  wound  spurts  upon  his  hand.  It 
burns  as  if  it  were  the  fuel  of  the  creature's 
fiery  breath.  As  he  feels  its  heat  he  puts  his 
fingers  into  his  mouth,  and  the  instant  that  he 
tastes  the  blood  the  most  wonderful  thing  of  all 
happens  to  him.  He  understands  the  songs  of 
the  birds.  The  one  that  he  tried  to  talk  with 
before  sings  to  him  again,  and  now  he  knows 
every  word.  It  tells  him  that  in  the  cave  are 
gold  and  jewels  untold,  that  with  the  magic 
helmet  he  can  do  wonderful  things,  and  that 
with  the  magic  ring  he  can  rule  the  world. 
He  thanks  the  bird  for  telling  him  such  good 
things,  and  goes  to  find  the  helmet  and  the  ring. 
In  a  minute  he  comes  back  with  them  ;  he  does 
not  want  the  rest  of  the  treasure,  for  he  knows 
nothing  about  gold  and  cares  nothing  about  it. 

"  Now  the  bird  sings  to  him  again.  '  Be- 
ware of  the  dwarf,'  it  says,  '  he  means  to  do  you 
harm.  But  when  he  speaks  to  you  the  blood 
of  the  dragon  which  you  have  tasted  will  help 
you  to  understand  the  meaning  that  is  in  his 
heart  instead  of  the  words  that  he  says.' 

"  So  the  dwarf  comes  back,  with  a  drinking, 
horn  in  which  he  has  poured  the  poison,  and 
he  offers  it  to  the  hero  to  drink.  But  with  all 
the  friendly  words  that  he  tries  to  speak,  he 
can  hide  nothing  from  the  young  man,  who 
reads  his  heart  and  knows  that  he  has  kept  him 


66  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

and  fed  him  all  these  years  only  that  he  might 
kill  the  dragon,  and  that  now  he  means  to 
poison  him  and  get  the  gold  for  himself.  There 
is  only  one  thing  to  be  done  with  such  wicked- 
ness as  this.  He  raises  his  sword  and  with  one 
blow  strikes  the  dwarf  dead. 

"  You  can  guess  how  the  bird  is  delighted  at 
this.  It  sings  to  him  again :  '  I  know  where 
you  could  find  the  loveliest  woman  in  the 
world.  There  is  fire  burning  all  around  her, 
and  if  you  could  only  pass  through  that  you 
could  win  her  for  your  wife.' 

"'But  could  I  pass  through  the  fire?'  he 
asks. 

"  '  Only  the  hero  who  knows  no  fear  can  do 
that,'  sings  the  bird. 

" '  Very  well,  then,  I  know  no  fear,'  he  an- 
swers ;  '  the  dragon  could  not  teach  it  to  me ; 
lead  me  to  this  woman ;  perhaps  I  may  learn  it 
from  her.' 

"  The  bird  flutters  down  a  little  from  the  tree 
and  then  flies  away.  Did  you  see  the  big, 
bright  spark  that  flew  up  the  chimney  ? 

"  Away  runs  the  hero  too,  following  the  bird. 
It  is  a  long  journey,  through  the  forest  and 
over  the  rocks  and  the  mountains,  but  he  is 
young  and  eager,  and  his  light  heart  makes  the 
way  almost  as  easy  for  him  as  it  is  for  the  bird. 
Yet  the  bird  is  the  faster,  and  by  and  by  it  flies 
so  far  ahead  that  he  cannot  see  it  at  all,  and 


The  Hero  Who  Knew  No  Fear      67 

then  his  way  is  barred  by  a  mighty  form  that 
stands  before  him.  It  is  the  Father  of  the 
Gods.  The  young  man  does  not  know  what  a 
terrible  person  he  has  met,  though  it  is  fair  to 
say  that  if  he  did  know  he  would  not  care,  and 
he  asks  him  if  he  knows  where  he  may  find  the 
beautiful  woman  with  the  fire  all  about  her. 

"  The  Father  of  the  Gods  asks  him  in  turn 
how  he  heard  of  this  woman,  what  taught  him 
to  understand  the  song  of  the  bird,  who  forged 
the  sword  with  which  he  killed  the  dragon. 
All  these  things  he  answers,  and  the  Father  of 
the  Gods  is  sure  that  the  hero  who  knows  no 
fear  has  come  at  last.  Yet  one  test  remains  for 
him.  '  There  is  the  place  you  seek,'  he  says, 
as  he  points  to  the  mountain -top,  where  the 
bright  flames  are  whirling  and  dancing  and  leap- 
ing up  into  the  very  sky,  '  there  is  your  way, 
yet  not  another  step  upon  it  shall  you  go,'  and 
he  stretches  his  spear  across  the  path  to  keep 
the  young  man  back. 

"  Ah,  once  before  that  spear  was  raised  against 
this  magic  sword.  It  was  a  mighty  arm  that 
swung  the  sword  then,  the  arm  of  the  best  of 
heroes  living,  but  the  hero  had  done  a  wrong, 
he  had  helped  to  break  a  promise,  and  he  who 
breaks  promises  can  never  break  the  spears  of 
the  gods.  His  arm  had  not  the  young  strength 
of  that  which  masters  the  sword  to-day.  Fierce 
and  brave  and  noble  was  he,  yet  he  had  seen 


68  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

many  sorrows,  and  he  knew  what  fear  was  ;  the 
glad,  free  hope  of  the  new  hero  was  not  his. 
The  sword  then  was  true  of  temper,  bright  and 
sharp,  but  the  heat  and  the  light  of  the  fire  of 
a  new  manhood  had  not  been  forged  into  it 
then,  and  it  was  not  aflame  with  the  glory  of 
youth  and  the  promise  of  love.  And  so,  with  a 
sweep  and  a  flash  as  of  lightning,  the  magic 
sword  cuts  through  the  spear  that  no  other 
sword  ever  dared  even  strike,  and  as  the  frag- 
ments fall  upon  the  ground,  the  mountain 
shakes  and  shudders,  and  the  thunder  rolls  and 
rumbles  about  its  top.  The  young  man  is  again 
upon  his  way.  Half  sadly  and  half  gladly,  the 
Father  of  the  Gods  looks  after  him.  He  has 
come  and  has  passed,  the  hero  who  knows  no 
fear;  he  has  not  even  feared  the  spear  that 
ruled  the  world,  and  now  that  spear  is  broken. 
The  time  of  the  gods  is  near. 

"Again  I  see  the  whole  fire  streaming  up 
fiercely  and  joyously,  as  it  did  when  the 
Father  of  the  Gods  kissed  his  daughter  to 
sleep.  The  winds  are  still  hushed  around  the 
mountain  top,  the  flowers  in  the  grass  and  on 
the  rock  still  droop  with  folded  petals,  and  the 
horse  still  sleeps  upon  the  ground,  for  there,  in 
the  midst  of  the  fire,  on  the  bank  of  moss  still 
lies  the  Daughter  of  the  God,  her  form  covered 
with  her  shield,  and  her  face  hidden  by  her 
closed  helmet.  Through  all  these  years  nothing 


The  Hero  Who  Knew  No  Fear      69 

has  changed  or  stirred  in  this  magic  circle  ex- 
cept  the  changing,  stirring,  restless,  watchful 
fire  that  rings  it  around.  Now,  the  time  for 
life  has  come  again.  Up  from  the  mountain 
side  comes  a  ringing  horn  note,  and  in  a  mo- 
ment the  hero  strides  through  the  flames  that 
dart  and  flicker  and  lick  at  him,  but  cannot 
harm  him,  and  stands  in  the  magic  circle  gaz- 
ing in  wonder  upon  its  strange  sleep. 

"  '  Who  is  that,'  he  thinks, '  covered  with  the 
shield  ?  It  must  be  a  knight,  but  is  it  not  hard 
for  him  to  lie  there  all  dressed  in  armor  ? '  He 
gently  takes  off  the  helmet  and  starts  back  in 
surprise  as  he  sees  the  lovely  face  and  the  soft 
spun  gold  that  falls  out  upon  the  moss  as  he 
lifts  the  helmet  away.  Now  he  raises  the 
shield  and  tries  to  open  the  armor  in  front, 
that  the  knight  may  breathe  more  freely.  He 
cannot  unfasten  it,  and  at  last  he  cuts  it  with 
his  sword,  and  then  he  starts  again  as  he  sees 
the  light,  snowy  folds  of  the  garment  under- 
neath. This  can  be  no  knight,  this  is  a  woman. 
What  has  he  done  ?  What  shall  he  do  ?  He 
stands  and  looks  at  her ;  he  has  never  seen  any- 
thing half  so  beautiful,  and  as  he  looks  he  trem- 
bles ;  he  fears  to  wake  her  and  he  fears  to 
leave  her  asleep.  Yes,  the  hero  who  knew  no 
fear  trembles.  He  has  learned  to  fear  from 
this  woman.  Not  by  anything  that  she  has 
done  has  she  taught  him,  for  she  still  sleeps. 


70  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

It  is  only  because  she  is  a  woman  that  he  fears. 
He  is  no  less  a  hero  for  that.  A  man  who 
lived  long  and  never  feared  at  all  would  be  no 
hero.  The  time  has  come  to  him,  as  it  must 
come  to  every  man,  when  it  is  braver  to  fear. 

"  Yet,  though  he  fears,  he  does  not  hesitate. 
He  does  just  the  only  thing  that  he  possibly 
could  do.  He  kneels  beside  her  and  kisses  her 
lips.  Then  she  awakes.  She  opens  those  eyes 
that  are  blue  with  the  depth  of  the  sea  and  the 
light  of  the  sky.  She  gazes  around  her  at  the 
rocks,  at  the  trees,  at  the  sunlight,  at  her  hero, 
and  her  face  is  filled  with  joy.  And  what  a 
face  it  is  !  No  longer  as  it  was  before.  At  her 
father's  kiss  the  goddess  slept ;  her  hero's  kiss 
awoke  the  woman.  Her  face  is  as  clear,  as 
pure,  and  as  radiant  as  before,  but  soft  and 
gracious  and  gentle  ;  her  eyes  are  as  full  of 
light  as  they  were,  but  there  is  tenderness  in 
them  too ;  her  lips  are  as  calm  and  beautiful, 
but  they  are  all  sweetness  ;  what  was  still  and 
stern  and  placid  is  full  of  sympathy,  kind,  and 
loving. 

"  The  flowers  lift  up  their  heads  and  open 
to  look  at  her  ;  the  horse  neighs  to  say  that  he 
is  awake  again  and  knows  her ;  the  little  winds 
come  back  and  murmur  softly  at  first  among 
the  leaves ;  then  they  get  bolder  and  kiss  her 
cheek  and  lift  her  hair  and  shake  it  out  to  the 
light,  and  whisper  to  her  hero  and  ask  him  if 


The  Hero  Who  Knew  No  Fear      71 

he  saw  any  gold  like  that  in  the  dragon's  cave. 
He  has  never  seen  any  woman  before,  yet  he 
knows  that  in  all  the  world  there  cannot  be 
another  such  as  this.  She  has  seen  many  he- 
roes, yet  this  is  he  for  whom  she  has  waited  so 
long.  Each  knows  all  the  depth  of  the  other's 
thoughts,  and  so  they  stand  and  gaze  each  into 
the  other's  eyes  and  into  the  other's  heart." 

"  And  is  that  all  ?  "  said  the  child.  "  It  ends 
just  like  '  The  Sleeping  Beauty,'  doesn't  it  ?  " 

"No;  just  here  it  is  like  '  The  Sleeping  Beau- 
ty,' but  we  shall  see  more  some  other  time. 
This  is  the  end  for  the  night." 


THE  END  OF  THE  RING 


THE  END  OF  THE  RING 

THE  fire  has  always  fascinated  and  charmed 
me.  When  I  was  a  child  myself  I  used  to  watch 
it  till  my  eyes  ached,  and  my  habit  of  throw- 
ing sticks  and  paper  into  it  to  see  them  burn 
was  a  terror  to  all  my  aunts.  A  bonfire  was  a 
delicious  joy,  and  fireworks,  especially  if  I  could 
set  them  off  myself,  were  the  summit  of  happi- 
ness. Even  now,  whenever  I  see  a  house  on  fire 
I  am  afraid  my  pleasure  in  watching  it  is  much 
greater  than  my  sorrow  for  the  people  who  are 
losing  their  property  or  their  home.  I  do  not 
want  houses  to  burn,  but  if  they  must  burn 
I  want  to  see  them.  As  for  the  fire  on  the 
hearth,  that  is  my  counsellor  and  friend.  When 
we  are  alone  together  I  sit  and  gaze  into  it,  and 
it  tells  me  of  old,  happy  times,  of  other  friends 
who  are  far  away  now,  and  of  the  pleasant 
nights  we  had  together.  It  speaks  to  me  of 
old  hopes,  it  is  glad  with  me  in  their  fulfilment 
or  it  cheers  me  in  their  loss.  It  talks  of  bright, 
new  hopes,  and  tells  me  that  even  if  all  else  fails, 
it  will  still  be  true  to  me  and  will  try,  if  I  will 


76  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

come  back  to  it,  to  cheer  and  help  me  again  as 
it  cheers  and  helps  me  now. 

As  I  sat  in  this  way  with  the  fire,  the  little 
girl  came  and  took  a  low  stool  beside  me.  She 
looked  into  the  fire  too,  laying  her  cheek  upon 
my  hand,  which  rested  on  the  arm  of  the  chair. 
She  does  not  care  for  our  talks  about  other 
hearth  fires  that  long  ago  went  out,  so  we  had 
to  do  something  else  to  entertain  her.  "  Did 
you  want  to  know  more  about  the  Daughter  of 
the  God  and  the  Hero  who  knew  no  fear?"  I 
said.  "Well,  I  can  see  them  both  now,  just 
where  we  saw  them  last  on  the  mountain 
top,  with  the  fire  burning  around  them  as  it  did 
before,  but  not  so  high  and  fierce  as  before, 
because  it  is  not  needed  for  a  guard  so  much  as 
it  was. 

"  The  Daughter  of  the  God  is  telling  her 
hero  that  he  ought  to  go  to  seek  more  advent- 
ures. Perhaps  he  may  find  other  things  for 
his  magic  sword  to  kill  besides  dragons  and 
wicked  dwarfs,  and  the  more  such  things  he 
does  the  better  she  will  love  him  when  he 
comes  back.  Oh,  she  knows  all  about  heroes 
and  what  they  ought  to  do.  He  does  not  like 
to  leave  her  at  all,  but  if  he  knows  that  she 
really  wants  him  to  seek  adventures,  you  may  be 
sure  he  will  seek  them.  Before  he  goes,  he  gives 
her  the  ring  that  he  got  from  the  dragon's  cave, 
with  the  curse  upon  it,  but  they  are  not  the 


The  End  of  the  Ring  77 

sort  of  man  and  woman  to  trouble  themselves 
about  curses.  In  return  she  gives  him  her 
horse  and  her  shield,  not  that  he  will  need  it 
much  against  his  enemies,  with  that  magic 
sword,  and  besides  she  knows  how  to  cast  a 
spell  upon  him  so  that  he  cannot  be  wounded 
in  battle ;  but  the  shield  may  keep  off  the  rain,  if 
he  has  to  sleep  out  of  doors.  So  he  goes  away 
down  the  mountain  and  she  waits  for  him  to 
come  back. 

"  Now  all  the  fire  changes  to  a  shining  river. 
It  is  the  same  river  where  the  treasure  was  once 
kept  by  the  nymphs,  only  now  we  are  above  it 
instead  of  under  it.  On  the  bank  is  the  hall  of 
a  king  and  I  see  the  king  himself  sitting  on  his 
throne,  with  his  sister,  a  beautiful  princess, 
beside  him.  With  them  too  is  their  half-broth- 
er. He  is  a  strange  fellow  and  you  ought  to 
know  him.  His  father  is  the  dwarf  who  stole 
the  treasure,  and  his  father  has  told  him  all  about 
it  many  times  and  has  taught  him  to  hope  that 
some  time  he  may  get  it  again,  so  that  they  two 
may  divide  all  the  riches  between  them,  and 
with  the  ring  and  the  helmet  may  rule  the 
world.  He  is  just  as  wicked  as  his  father,  all 
he  cares  for  in  the  world  is  to  get  that  treasure, 
and  you  may  be  sure  that  he  will  try  to  get  it 
in  every  way  that  he  can  find,  good  or  bad. 

"  He  is  trying  at  this  very  moment,  and  in 
rather  a  strange  way,  you  may  think  at  first. 


78  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

He  is  telling  the  king  that  he  ought  to  have  a 
wife,  and  that  his  sister  ought  to  have  a  husband. 
The  king  asks,  just  as  everybody  always  asks 
when  he  is  told  that,  '  Whom  do  you  want  me 
to  have  ? ' 

"  '  The  most  beautiful  and  the  most  royal  of 
all  women,'  says  the  half-brother,  '  lives  upon  a 
rock  with  fire  all  around  it  for  a  guard,  and  who- 
ever shall  break  through  the  fire  and  come  to 
her  shall  win  her  for  his  wife.' 

"  This  does  not  encourage  the  king  at  all. 
He  never  walked  through  a  fire  or  did  anything 
of  the  sort,  and  he  does  not  even  care  to  try. 
You  see  the  difference  between  a  king  and  a 
hero.  But  the  half-brother  says  that  he  knows 
of  a  hero  who  would  be  glad  to  go  through  the 
fire  and  get  this  woman  for  the  king,  if  only  he 
might  have  the  king's  sister  for  himself.  The 
princess  is  not  displeased  at  all  at  the  notion  of 
a  husband  who  is  so  brave  and  can  do  such 
wonderful  things,  but  she  fears  that  such  a  hero 
must  long  ago  have  seen  and  loved  some  wom- 
an more  beautiful  than  she,  and  that  he  will 
not  care  for  her  at  all.  But  the  half-brother  an- 
swers :  '  There  is  a  magic  drink  which  you 
shall  give  him,  and  it  will  make  him  forget  any 
other  woman  he  has  ever  seen,  no  matter  who 
she  is.' 

"  The  half-brother  knows  very  well,  I  believe, 
that  the  hero  already  loves  the  Daughter  of  the 


The  End  of  the  Ring  79 

God,  and  it  is  she  that  he  means  to  make  him 
forget  before  he  sends  him  to  get  her  for  the 
king.  Of  course  the  king  and  his  sister  know 
nothing  about  this,  or  they  would  have  nothing 
to  do  with  such  a  wicked  plan,  for  they  are  rea- 
sonably good  people.  The  half-brother  says 
that  the  hero  is  going  about  the  world  to  find 
adventures  and  is  sure  to  come  here  before  long, 
and  true  enough,  even  while  he  is  speaking  they 
see  him  coming  with  his  horse  in  a  little  boat 
on  the  river.  They  call  to  him  to  come  on 
shore,  and  they  welcome  him  as  if  they  were 
never  so  glad  to  see  anybody  before  in  their 
lives. 

"  Perhaps,  indeed,  they  never  were  so  glad 
to  see  anybody,  and  I  am  sure  the  princess 
never  was.  A  form  so  full  of  life  and  action 
and  vigor,  or  a  face  so  full  of  freedom  and  cour- 
age and  cheer  surely  she  has  never  seen.  The 
fine  frankness  of  his  ways  and  the  young  grace 
of  his  motion  are  new  to  her  too,  and  that  she 
can  hope  to  win  him  at  once  for  herself  is  almost 
more  than  she  can  believe.  She  would  not 
think  of  such  a  thing  at  all  if  she  knew  how 
little  he  thought  or  cared  about  her.  He  is 
charming  and  polite  enough,  of  course,  but  as 
often  as  he  thinks  of  her  or  of  anything  else 
once  he  thinks  of  the  Daughter  of  the  God 
twice,  and  when  his  thoughts  are  not  especially 
drawn  away  he  thinks  of  her  all  the  time.  But 


8o  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

now  the  princess  offers  him  a  horn  filled  with 
the  magic  drink  that  is  to  make  him  forget. 
Oh,  if  only  that  clever  little  bird  were  here  now 
to  warn  him,  as  it  did  when  the  dwarf  mixed 
the  drink  for  him,  how  much  trouble  might  be 
saved  !  But,  you  know,  he  never  thinks  of  dan- 
ger, so  he  drinks,  and  then  he  thinks  of  nothing 
at  all — nothing  at  all  but  the  princess. 

"  Well,  that  is  not  surprising,  for  you  know 
she  is  only  the  second  woman  he  ever  saw  and 
he  has  forgotten  the  first.  You  would  scarcely 
believe  how  much  he  has  forgotten  her.  Why, 
if  the  king  were  to  tell  him  at  this  moment  that 
a  woman  slept  under  a  shield,  guarded  by  fire, 
that  a  young  man  came  through  the  fire,  cut 
open  her  armor,  kissed  her,  awakened  her,  and 
vowed  that  he  would  love  her  forever,  he  would 
not  remember  that  he  had  ever  known  of  any- 
thing  of  the  kind  or  had  ever  heard  of  such  a 
young  man.  For  him  there  is  no  woman  in  the 
world  now  but  the  princess. 

"  The  king  does  tell  him  a  little  of  this  story, 
when  the  hero  asks  him,  still  thinking  of  the 
princess,  whether  he  has  a  wife  as  well  a  sister. 
'  No,'  the  king  answers,  '  I  have  no  wife.  The 
woman  I  want  for  my  wife  I  fear  I  never  can 
win ;  she  is  far  away  upon  a  mountain  and  a 
fire  burns  all  around  her.  He  who  could  pass 
through  the  fire  and  come  to  her  might  win 
her,  but  I  could  never  do  it.' 


The  End  of  the  Ring  81 

"  It  is  just  as  I  told  you.  This  absurd  young 
man  does  not  know  that  he  ever  heard  of  a 
woman  in  the  middle  of  a  fire  before  ;  he  does 
not  know  that  he  ever  learned  to  fear,  so  he 
says  :  '  I  am  not  afraid  of  a  little  fire ;  I  will  go 
and  get  your  bride  for  you  if  you  will  give  me 
your  sister  for  mine.' 

"  '  I  will  give  you  my  sister  gladly,'  says  the 
king  ;  *  but  how  is  my  bride  to  be  made  to  think 
that  it  is  I  who  come  to  her  and  win  her,  instead 
of  you  ? ' 

"  '  That  is  easy,'  says  the  half-brother ;  '  with 
that  helmet  which  he  wears  he  can  take  any 
form  he  will,  and  he  can  make  himself  look  ex- 
actly like  you.  He  shall  bring  the  woman  away 
through  the  fire  and  then  he  shall  leave  her  to 
you,  and  she  will  never  know  that  it  was  not 
you  who  came  to  her  rock.' 

"  Now,  the  hero,  you  know,  never  knew  what 
could  be  done  with  that  helmet.  He  only  took 
it  with  him  from  the  dragon's  cave  because  the 
little  bird  told  him  it  was  good  for  something. 
Now  that  he  has  learned  its  use  everything 
that  he  and  the  king  want  to  do  seems  simple 
enough,  and  they  set  off  in  the  little  boat  for  the 
rock  with  the  fire  around  it.  The  half-brother 
stays  on  the  shore  and  looks  after  them,  with 
his  pale  face  and  his  wicked  eyes.  The  woman 
far  away  on  that  rock  has  the  magic  ring. 
When  the  king  brings  her  here  as  his  bride  he 
6 


82  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

will  find  some  way  to  get  the  ring,  and  then 
what  will  he  care  for  kings  or  brides,  for  prin- 
cesses or  heroes  ?  He  and  the  wicked  dwarf, 
his  father,  will  rule  the  world. 

"  The  fire  burns  up  high  and  clear  again  and 
within  its  circle  sits  the  Daughter  of  the  God. 
She  does  not  sleep  now ;  she  sits  and  gazes  at 
the  ring  her  hero  gave  her,  thinking  nothing  of 
the  curse  upon  it,  and  wonders  when  he  will 
come  back  to  her.  Ah,  when  will  her  hero 
come  back  to  her?  Do  you  remember  how 
once  on  this  very  rock  the  daughters  of  the 
god  met  to  ride  together  to  his  castle,  and  how 
they  came  each  riding  on  her  flying  horse,  rac- 
ing with  the  driving  wind  and  the  hurrying 
clouds  ?  With  just  such  a  leap  and  a  flash  of  a 
sudden  flame  up  into  the  smoke  I  can  see  one 
of  them  riding  now.  So  quickly  she  gallops 
through  the  sky  that  I  can  scarcely  see  what 
she  is  till  she  reaches  the  rock,  springs  from 
her  horse,  and  stands  before  her  sister.  Her 
sister  runs  to  meet  her  and  to  ask  if  their  father 
is  still  angry  with  her. 

"  The  war  goddess  has.  sad  things  to  tell  of 
their  father.  He  sits  in  his  castle  with  the 
gods  and  his  heroes  around  him.  They  do  not 
go  out  to  fight  and  kill  each  other,  and  to  be 
made  alive  and  well  again  at  sunset  any  more. 
The  Father  of  the  Gods  only  sits  there  and 
looks  at  his  broken  spear,  and  the  rest,  full  of 


The  End  of  the  Ring  83 

dread,  look  only  at  him.  He  is  weary  of  rul- 
ing the  world,  weary  of  all  the  trouble  that  has 
come  from  the  wrong  that  he  did  in  not  giving 
that  treasure  back  to  the  river  nymphs.  He  it> 
not  sorry  that  his  spear  is  broken  and  he  would 
gladly  hasten  the  end  of  all.  He  has  made  his 
heroes  cut  down  the  great  ash  tree  from  which 
his  spear  was  made,  the  tree  that  spread  its 
branches  over  all  his  castle,  and  they  have 
piled  the  wood  high  around  the  walls.  When 
the  end  comes  it  will  help  the  castle  to  burn. 
And  now  the  Father  of  the  Gods  says  that,  if  the 
woman  who  has  the  magic  ring  whose  curse  has 
been  so  heavy  would  but  give  it  back  to  the  river 
nymphs,  all  his  great  sorrows  would  be  over. 

"  This  his  daughter,  the  war  goddess,  heard, 
and  hastened  here  to  tell  it  to  his  daughter,  the 
woman.  Will  she  give  up  the  ring?  Will  she 
help  the  gods  to  find  the  rest  that  they  long 
for  ?  Ah,  but  a  war  goddess  knows  as  little  of 
women  as  she  does  of  men.  No,  no,  the  woman 
loves  the  man  who  gave  her  the  ring  and  she 
would  not  lose  it  for  a  moment  to  gain  ages  of 
peace  for  the  gods  whose  homes  she  shares  no 
more.  She  cares  nothing  for  weary  gods ;  she 
has  a  hero.  The  war  goddess  cannot  under, 
stand  her  sister.  She  leaves  her  and  is  away 
again,  toward  the  castle  of  the  gods,  riding  on 
her  flying  horse,  galloping  against  the  driving 
wind  and  the  hurrying  clouds. 


84  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

"A  horn  sounds  down  in  the  valley.  There 
is  only  one  horn  in  the  world  like  that,  and  the 
woman  springs  joyfully  up  to  meet  her  hero. 
He  comes  and  walks  through  the  fire  as  he  did 
before,  but  oh  !  how  different  he  is  from  what  he 
was  before !  Then  his  face  was  young  and 
fresh  and  noble  and  his  form  was  graceful  and 
light ;  now  his  face  and  his  form  are  those  of 
the  king.  Is  this  the  promise  that  the  Father 
of  the  Gods  made  to  his  daughter  ?  He  said 
that  none  should  ever  come  to  her  or  win  her 
but  the  bravest  of  heroes.  Yes,  this  is  indeed 
the  promise  and  this  the  hero,  but  how  sadly 
for  her  the  promise  is  kept !  When  he  saw  her 
before  he  gently  lifted  off  her  helmet  and  kissed 
her  and  learned  to  fear  before  her;  now  he 
thinks  only  of  the  princess,  away  there  by  the 
river,  and  he  tells  the  Daughter  of  the  God 
that  he  is  the  king  and  that  she  must  come 
with  him  and  be  his  bride. 

"  She  resists  him,  and  he  seizes  her  to  force 
her.  She  holds  out  her  hand  to  him  with  the 
ring  and  bids  him  beware  its  power,  which  will 
protect  her  from  him  ;  he  seizes  her  hand  and 
pulls  the  ring  from  her  finger.  She  is  helpless  ; 
she  faints  in  his  grasp  ;  he  carries  her  through 
the  fire  and  down  the  mountain  to  where  the 
real  king  is.  He  leaves  them  together  and  goes 
back  alone  to  the  hall  by  the  river  and  to  the 
princess. 


The  End  of  the  Ring  85 

"  Very  glad  is  the  princess,  you  may  be  sure, 
to  see  him  come  back  so  quickly  and  so  safely, 
and  glad  too  is  the  half-brother,  but  for  a  dif- 
ferent reason,  for  he  sees  the  ring  on  his  finger. 
Now  they  call  all  the  people  together  to  greet 
the  king  and  his  bride  as  they  come  in  their 
boat  on  the  river.  There  are  shouts  and  cheers, 
and  men  with  waving  banners  and  women  who 
scatter  flowers ;  the  king  smiles  upon  his  people 
and  thanks  them  for  their  greeting,  and  there 
is  only  one  who  is  not  merry  and  glad.  And 
whom  do  you  think  the  king's  new  bride  sees 
in  all  this  happy  crowd  ?  Only  her  hero,  in 
his  own  form  again,  and,  if  her  heart  was 
wounded  and  sad  before,  it  dies  within  her  now, 
when  she  sees  him  leading  the  princess  out  to 
meet  them  and  knows  that  he  thinks  no  longer 
of  her.  She  turns  pale  and  faint  at  first  and 
then  angry  and  fierce.  She  cries  out  that  this 
man  was  her  lover,  that  he  has  betrayed  her 
for  the  princess  and  that  he  has  betrayed  the 
king  too. 

"  Of  course,  nobody  can  understand  that  at 
all — nobody  but  the  half-brother — but  you  can 
think  how  everybody  must  be  shocked  and 
astonished,  and  how  everybody  tries  to  make 
out  what  she  means,  and  fails.  To  be  sure,  she 
understands  it  herself  as  little  as  the  rest.  She 
knows  nothing  about  the  magic  drink  that  made 
her  lover  forget  her ;  she  knows  only  that  he 


86  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

swore  always  to  love  her  and  that  now  he 
loves  the  princess.  The  king  does  not  know 
that  the  hero  ever  saw  his  bride  till  he  went 
to  her  mountain  to  bring  her  for  him,  so  he 
supposes  that,  if  he  ever  told  her  that  he  loved 
her,  it  must  have  been  then ;  that  would  be 
betraying  the  king,  his  friend,  in  a  most  cruel 
way,  of  course.  The  princess  knows  only  just 
what  the  king  knows,  and  if  the  king  has  been 
deceived  and  betrayed,  she  must  have  been 
deceived  and  betrayed  a  great  deal  more.  As 
for  the  poor  hero  himself,  he  does  not  remem- 
ber that  he  ever  saw  this  woman  before,  he 
does  not  know  how  he  can  have  done  any 
wrong,  and  he  is  more  puzzled  than  any  of  the 
rest.  Only  the  half-brother  knows  all  about  it, 
that  nobody  is  to  blame  at  all  except  himself, 
and  it  is  he  whom  nobody  thinks  of  suspecting. 
The  hero  lays  his  hand  on  the  half-brother's 
spear  and  swears  that  he  has  never  wronged 
anyone  here  ;  if  he  has,  he  says,  may  this  very 
spear  slay  him. 

"  Now  is  the  time  for  the  half-brother  to 
work  the  hero's  ruin  and  to  try  to  get  the  ring 
that  he  wears.  When  all  have  gone  but  him 
and  the  king  and  his  bride,  he  whispers  to  her 
that  he  will  help  her,  and  will  kill  the  hero  to 
revenge  the  wrong  that  he  has  done  her.  '  You 
kill  him  ! '  she  cries.  '  If  he  once  looked  at  you, 
you  would  not  dare  come  near  him.' 


The  End  of  the  Ring  87 

" '  Yet,'  he  says,  '  there  must  be  some  way 
that  I  could  do  it ;  tell  me  what  it  is  and  you 
will  be  revenged.' 

" '  I  cast  a  spell  upon  him,'  she  says,  '  so  that 
he  could  not  be  wounded  in  battle,  but  I  knew 
that  he  would  never  turn  his  back  upon  an  en- 
emy, so  I  set  no  spell  there  ;  you  may  strike 
him  in  the  back.' 

"  Now,  he  tells  the  king  that  nothing  but  the 
hero's  death  can  restore  the  honor  that  he  has 
lost.  '  To-morrow,'  he  says,  '  we  will  go  hunt- 
ing ;  I  will  kill  him  with  my  spear,  and  we  will 
tell  the  princess  that  it  was  a  wild  boar  that 
did  it.' 

"  '  It  shall  be  so,'  they  all  cry  ;  '  he  must  die.' 

"  And  whom  do  you  think  I  see  now  ?  The 
river  nymphs  again.  Not  before  the  king's 
house,  where  we  have  been  so  long,  but  in  an- 
other part  of  the  river,  all  shut  in  by  wild 
woods  and  rocks.  They  are  swimming  and 
playing  on  the  water,  just  as  they  did  under  it 
when  we  saw  them  first,  and  they  seem  just  as 
careless  and  happy  as  they  did  then,  but  they 
are  still  mourning  for  their  lost  treasure  and 
longing  to  get  it  back  again.  If  they  could 
only  get  the  ring  it  would  do  as  well  as  the 
whole  treasure,  for  the  ring  is  the  magic  part 
of  it.  And  now  to  this  very  spot  comes  the 
hero,  who  wears  the  ring  on  his  finger.  He 
has  wandered  away  from  the  king  and  his  men, 


88  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

who  were  hunting  with  him,  and  as  soon  as  the 
nymphs  see  him  they  beg  him  to  give  them 
back  their  ring. 

"  He  says  that  he  will  not,  at  first ;  it  was  too 
much  trouble  for  him  to  win  it  from  the  drag- 
on. But  he  really  does  not  care  so  very  much 
about  it,  and  I  think  he  would  let  them  have  it 
in  the  end  if  it  were  not  for  a  great  mistake 
that  they  make  in  asking  for  it.  They  tell  him 
about  the  curse  of  the  ring,  and  that  if  he  keeps 
it  he  will  be  killed  this  very  day.  Now,  you 
can  see  easily  enough  that  that  is  the  very 
worst  thing  they  could  say  if  they  hoped  to 
get  the  ring  from  him,  for  he  is  not  in  the  least 
afraid  of  being  killed,  and  he  will  not  have  any- 
body believe  that  he  is  afraid.  They  shall  not 
have  it,  he  says,  happen  what  will.  They  will 
have  it,  they  call  back  to  him,  and  this  very 
day  ;  and  so  they  dive  down  under  the  water 
and  leave  him. 

"  Now  come  the  rest  of  the  huntsmen  and 
sit  about  in  a  circle  to  rest  here  in  the  shade 
and  to  talk.  The  king  is  gloomy,  thinking  still 
of  the  wrongs  that  have  been  done  him.  His 
half-brother  asks  the  hero  if  it  is  true  that  he 
knows  what  the  birds  say.  '  I  listen  to  them 
no  more,'  he  answers ;  '  but  to  cheer  the  king  I 
will  tell  you  some  stories  of  the  things  that  I 
have  seen  and  the  things  that  I  have  done.' 

"  He  tells  them  of  the  dwarf  who  kept  him 


The  End  of  the  Ring  89 

and  brought  him  up  that  he  might  fight  the 
dragon  ;  he  tells  how  he  mended  the  magic 
sword,  how  he  killed  the  dragon  with  it,  and 
took  the  helmet  and  the  ring  from  the  cave.  A 
bird  then  sang  to  him,  he  says,  and  told  him 
that  the  dwarf  would  try  to  kill  him,  but  he 
killed  the  dwarf  instead.  Here  he  stops,  for 
he  cannot  remember  anything  about  the  moun- 
tain top  with  the  fire  around  it,  or  the  Daugh- 
ter of  the  God,  or  even  what  the  bird  sang  to 
him  next.  But  the  king's  half-brother  squeezes 
something  into  his  wine  and  tells  him  to  drink 
it  and  it  will  make  him  remember  better. 

"  He  drinks,  and  it  does  make  him  remember 
better.  He  tells  of  the  lovely  woman  who 
slept  with  the  fire  all  around  her,  and  how  he 
kissed  her  and  awoke  her.  Then  suddenly  the 
king  understands  it  all ;  he  remembers  the 
drink  of  forgetfulness  that  they  gave  the  hero, 
and  he  knows  that  nobody  has  done  any  wrong 
but  his  wicked  half-brother ;  he  it  was  who 
told  him  of  the  woman  in  the  fire  who  should 
be  his  wife,  he  who  said  that  the  hero  should 
bring  her  to  him,  he  who  bade  them  give  him 
the  drink  to  make  him  forget,  he  who  first  said 
that  the  hero  must  die.  The  king  would  glad- 
ly save  the  hero  now,  but  it  is  too  late. 

"  It  is  too  late,  for  of  a  sudden  two  ravens  fly 
up  from  beside  the  river  and  away  over  the 
heads  of  them  all.  They  are  the  ravens  that 


90  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

fly  all  over  the  world  and  then  to  the  Father  of 
the  Gods,  to  tell  him  all  that  they  see  and  all 
that  they  hear.  They  are  going  now  to  tell 
him  that  the  end  of  the  gods,  the  end  that  he 
longs  for,  is  near.  The  hero  starts  up  to  hear 
what  they  say.  He  turns  his  back  to  the  oth- 
ers, and  the  half-brother,  before  the  king  can 
stop  him,  thrusts  his  spear  into  his  back.  The 
hero  turns  for  an  instant  to  rush  against  the 
murderer,  but  his  strength  is  gone,  and  he  falls 
helpless  upon  the  ground.  All  the  rest  cry  out 
in  horror,  and  the  half-brother  turns  from  them 
and  strides  away. 

"  And  what  now  of  the  hero  ?  He  speaks  no 
word  to  those  who  stand  about  him  as  he  lies 
here  dying  on  the  ground.  Where  are  his 
thoughts  now  ?  He  is  thinking  of  the  only 
time  he  ever  feared.  He  is  back  again  upon 
the  rock,  with  the  flames  curling  and  whirling 
all  around  him.  Before  him  once  more  lies  the 
Daughter  of  the  God.  Again  he  kisses  her 
lips.  She  awakes.  He  sees  again  those  deep, 
blue,  wonderful  eyes.  He  does  not  see  the 
rocks,  or  the  trees,  or  the  sunlight — only  her. 
Again  for  one  last  moment  he  knows  that  in  all 
the  world  there  cannot  be  another  woman  such 
as  this.  They  look  each  into  the  other's  eyes 
and  into  the  other's  heart.  He  is  dead. 

"  They  lay  him  on  his  shield  and  lift  it  upon 
their  shoulders,  and  so  they  bear  him  back  to 


The  End  of  the  Ring  91 

the  king's  house  by  the  river.  The  half-brother 
is  there  before  them  and  tells  the  princess  that 
her  lover  has  been  killed  by  a  wild  boar.  She 
does  not  believe  him,  and  when  the  others  come 
she  calls  the  king  and  all  the  rest  his  murderers. 
The  king  indeed  wished  his  death  once,  but  he 
is  sorry  enough  for  it  now,  and  says  that  it  was 
his  half-brother  alone  who  did  it.  '  Well,  then,' 
cries  the  murderer,  '  it  was  I,  and  now  I  will 
have  my  reward  ;  I  will  take  the  ring.' 

"  The  king  cries  out  that  he  shall  not  have  it, 
and  draws  his  sword.  The  half-brother  draws 
his  own  and  rushes  upon  him,  and  before  the 
men  can  run  between  them  the  king  too  lies 
dead  upon  the  ground.  Then  again  the  mur- 
derer turns  toward  the  body  of  the  hero  to  take 
the  ring,  but,  as  he  comes  near  it,  the  hand  that 
wears  the  ring  rises  of  itself,  as  if  it  were  not 
dead  and  would  ward  him  off.  He  falls  back 
in  terror,  and  so  do  all  the  rest. 

"  But  now  comes  the  Daughter  of  the  God. 
She  bids  them  all  stand  back  from  her  hero. 
1  He  was  mine,  not  yours,'  she  says  to  the  prin- 
cess ;  '  he  loved  me  and  I  loved  him  before  you 
ever  saw  him.' 

"  '  Then  it  was  all  the  fault  of  this  wicked 
man  who  has  murdered  him,'  the  princess  an- 
swers ;  '  he  gave  me  the  drink  for  him  that 
made  him  forget  you.' 

"  She  turns  away  from  the  hero  and   bends 


92  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

over  the  king,  her  brother.  The  Daughter  of 
the  God  understands  now ;  he  was  never  faith- 
less to  her  of  himself.  She  tells  the  men  to  build 
a  funeral  pyre.  They  pile  up  the  wood  and  the 
women  scatter  flowers  upon  it.  Then  she  takes 
the  ring  from  her  hero's  hand.  While  they  lay 
his  body  on  the  pyre  she  bids  them  bring 
his  horse,  the  horse  that  once  was  hers,  that 
flew  with  her  through  the  clouds  when  she  was 
a  goddess,  and  slept  on  the  mountain  top  with 
the  fire  around  it  where  she  slept.  With  a 
torch  she  lights  the  pyre.  See  how  the  flames 
leap  up  and  catch  at  the  wood  and  stream  and 
grow.  Once  more  the  ravens  fly  up  from  the 
river  bank  and  away  into  the  sky.  Now  the 
end  for  the  gods  comes  indeed. 

"  The  Daughter  of  the  God  springs  upon  the 
horse  and  with  one  bound  they  leap  into  the 
middle  of  the  flames.  Yet,  as  soon  as  they  are 
there,  they  are  gone,  nor  can  I  see  the  hero 
there  any  more.  The  pyre  all  falls  together ; 
but  in  the  middle  of  its  hot,  red  embers  I  see 
something  brighter  than  all  the  rest.  It  is  the 
ring.  The  water  of  the  river  rises  and  rises 
till  it  flows  over  the  fire  and  puts  it  out.  Then 
on  the  surface,  swimming  and  playing  about  as 
always,  I  see  the  river  nymphs.  They  have 
found  the  ring,  and  their  treasure  is  their  own 
again.  But  the  wicked  half-brother  of  the 
king,  the  son  of  that  dwarf  who  stole  it  at  first 


THEIR    TREASURE    IS   THEIR    OWN    AGAiN." 


The  End  of  the  Ring  93 

long  ago,  tries  one  last  time  to  gain  it.  He 
plunges  into  the  river  to  seize  it  from  the 
nymphs,  but  one  of  them  holds  it  up  high  in  her 
hand  and  swims  away  from  him,  and  the  others 
twine  their  arms  around  him  and  draw  him 
down  and  down  under  the  water  and  he  is  seen 
no  more.  The  river  sinks  back  to  its  old  bed. 
The  treasure  that  was  stolen  is  restored.  All 
the  evil  and  the  punishment  that  came  from  the 
curse  of  the  ring  is  done." 

A  big  stick  that  had  been  burning  brightly 
arid  steadily  for  a  long  time  suddenly  fell  in 
two  and  the  quick  flames  and  the  sparks  sprang 
high  up  into  the  chimney.  "  See,  it  is  the  cas- 
tle of  the  gods  itself  that  is  burning  and  light- 
ing up  all  the  sky.  The  wrong  that  they  have 
done  and  the  sorrow  that  they  have  suffered  are 
past,  and  their  end  has  come.  But  the  fire 
burns  fiercer  still.  It  seizes  upon  everything, 
in  the  sky  and  on  the  earth.  Perhaps  it  is  bet- 
ter that  it  should.  The  world  that  we  have 
seen  in  our  fire  here  grew  so  selfish  and  cruel 
and  bad  after  the  gold  was  stolen  from  the  river 
that  it  may  be  best  for  it  to  end  in  these  flames. 
They  will  last  for  only  a  moment.  Even  now 
they  are  not  so  fierce.  I  can  see  the  sky  again. 
There  is  a  beautiful  brightness  in  it,  like  the 
coming  of  the  morning  ;  yet  it  is  more  than  that, 
for  it  streams  and  flashes  like  the  northern 
lights.  I  can  see  the  earth  again  too,  but  it  is 


94  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

not  as  it  was  before.  It  is  a  new  world.  It 
has  all  the  beautiful  things  that  the  old  one  had, 
the  green  pastures  and  plains,  the  silver  rivers, 
the  blue  mountains.  Some  of  the  gods  have 
come  back,  but  not  those  who  did  such  wrong 
and  made  the  old  world  so  wicked.  The  God 
of  Summer,  who  died  long  ago  when  the  evil 
began,  has  come  again  ;  and  if  he  and  all  who 
were  good  and  beautiful  before  are  to  be  here 
still,  I  am  sure  that  the  Daughter  of  the  God 
and  the  hero  who  knew  no  fear  must  find  their 
way  here  somehow.  A  new  world  that  is  to  be 
all  unselfish  and  brave  and  true  needs  such  a 
woman  and  such  a  hero." 


THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  SWAN 


THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  SWAN 

THE  little  girl  was  lying  on  the  rug  before 
the  fire,  one  elbow  buried  in  the  long  fur,  and 
one  cheek  resting  on  her  hand.  She  was  gaz- 
ing into  the  fire,  studying  the  bright,  flickering 
flames  and  the  red  embers.  I  had  not  noticed 
that  she  was  there  till  her  mother  said,  "  You 
will  ruin  that  child's  eyes  with  your  stories 
about  the  things  in  the  fire.  She  would  watch 
it  half  the  day  if  I  would  let  her  ;  it  is  too 
bright  and  too  hot  to  look  at  so  long  and  so 
near.  Come  away,  dear,  and  don't  look  at  the 
fire  again  to-day." 

"  But  why  can't  I  see  such  things  as  you 
see?  "  the  child  said  to  me,  with  a  little  sigh,  as 
she  got  up  slowly  from  the  rug  and  came 
toward  me. 

"Just  because  you  have  not  quite  learned 
how  yet,"  I  said  ;  "  now  suppose  you  give  up 
trying  for  a  little  while,  because  you  might 
hurt  your  eyes,  as  your  mother  says,  and  let 
me  look  into  the  fire  for  you  again.  Sit  here  in 
the  big  chair  with  me ;  turn  your  face  right 
away  from  the  fire  and  lay  it  against  my 
7 


98  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

shoulder.  Now  shut  your  eyes.  Some  people 
can  see  a  great  deal  better  with  their  eyes  shut, 
especially  such  things  as  we  are  trying  to  see, 
because  when  their  eyes  are  open  they  see  the 
every-day  things  all  around  them,  and  it  con- 
fuses them  and  prevents  their  seeing  what  they 
want  to  see  or  what  they  ought  to  see.  They 
are  people  who  have  not  learned  to  look  right 
through  the  every-day  things  and  see  others,  in 
spite  of  them,  that  are  much  better  and  more 
beautiful,  as  you  will  learn  to  do  some  time. 
But  just  now  keep  your  eyes  shut. 

"  I  see  then,  first,  a  splendid  company  of 
knights  and  people.  The  shining  of  the  fire  is 
like  the  light  of  the  sun,  that  glances  from 
the  polished  armor,  the  gleaming  weapons,  the 
standards,  and  the  banners  of  bright-colored 
silk  and  gold.  It  is  all  so  fine  that  it  looks  like 
a  holiday  time ;  but  it  is  not  that,  for  the  crowds 
of  people  seem  bent  on  something  more  impor- 
tant than  dancing  and  playing  games.  They 
are  -all  looking  toward  the  King,  who  stands 
under  a  great  tree  and  seems  to  have  something 
to  say  to  them.  The  heralds  are  blowing  their 
trumpets  and  calling  to  the  people  to  come  and 
hear  what  the  King  has  to  say,  though  they  are 
all  there  already  and  are  only  too  anxious  to 
hear,  and  so  the  King  speaks.  He  says  that 
far  away  at  the  other  end  of  the  country  there 
is  danger.  Enemies  are  coming  against  him 


The  Knight  of  the  Swan  99 

and  his  people,  and  he  calls  upon  all  the  men 
here  about  him  to  help  him  to  guard  the  land. 

"  Then  they  all  shout  and  wave  their  banners 
and  their  arms,  as  I  can  see  in  the  flickering  of 
the  bright  little  flames,  and  they  all  cry  that 
they  will  fight  for  their  King  and  their  country. 
But  this  does  not  satisfy  the  King,  for  he  says 
that  since  he  has  come  here  he  finds  everything 
going  wrong  and  everybody  quarrelling,  and 
he  asks  what  it  all  means.  Now  there  comes 
forward  a  man  who  has  all  this  while  been 
standing  silent  beside  his  wife ;  and  it  may  be 
as  well  to  say  just  here  that  this  man's  wife  is 
a  wicked  witch  and  that  the  man  himself  is 
none  too  good.  So  a  part  of  what  he  tells  the 
King  is  true  and  another  good  large  part  is  not 
true  at  all.  When  he  tells  what  the  King  knew 
before,  he  tells  the  truth  ;  and  when  he  tells  any- 
thing that  the  King  did  not  know  before,  it  is 
generally  a  lie. 

"  So  he  tells  the  King  that  he  was  left  the 
guardian  of  the  two  children  of  the  Duke  who 
ruled  in  this  part  of  the  country,  and  who  died 
a  few  years  ago.  One  of  the  children  was  a 
girl  and  the  other  was  a  boy,  and  he  tells  the 
King,  too,  how  he  took  care  of  them  as  they 
grew  up.  All  this  is  true  and  the  King  knew 
all  about  it  before.  But  now  he  goes  on  to  say 
that  one  day,  when  the  brother  and  the  sister 
had  gone  away  from  their  castle  together,  the 


ioo  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

sister  came  back  alone,  trembling  and  crying 
and  saying  that  she  had  lost  her  brother.  Prob- 
ably this  is  true  enough  too,  but  when  he  says 
that  the  poor  sister  was  not  really  sorry  at  all, 
because  she  had  killed  her  brother  herself,  he  is 
telling  a  dreadful,  cruel  lie.  Still  perhaps  it  is 
not  so  much  his  fault,  for  his  wife,  the  witch, 
who  you  must  remember  is  a  good  deal  more 
wicked  than  himself,  knows  much  more  about 
it  all  than  it  would  do  for  her  to  tell,  and  she 
may  have  deceived  him  as  well  as  other  people. 
"  Of  course  the  King  is  shocked  at  such  a 
dreadful  story  as  this,  and  he  wants  to  know 
how  the  sister  could  ever  have  done  anything 
so  wicked.  Well,  of  course  the  man  who  ac- 
cuses her  so  boldly  has  a  reason  to  give  for 
vhat  he  says  she  did,  or  he  never  would  have 
dared  mention  it  at  all.  So  he  explains  that  the 
sister  was  to  be  married  to  him  and  that  she 
refused  him,  and  then  he  married  the  witch 
instead,  only  he  does  not  call  her  a  witch.  He 
thinks  that  the  sister  must  have  had  some  other 
lover,  and  she  must  have  thought  that  if  her 
brother,  who  ought  to  be  Duke  as  soon  as  he 
should  be  old  enough,  were  only  dead,  she 
could  be  married  to  her  lover,  and  then  he 
would  be  the  Duke.  And  now  he  says  that  he 
thinks  he  himself  ought  to  be  Duke,  since  there 
is  nobody  who  deserves  to  be  one  better  than 
he,  and  he  asks  the  King  to  make  him  so. 


The  Knight  of  the  Swan          101 

"  Now,  of  course  anybody  as  bright  as  you 
are  can  see  at  once  that  the  whole  reason  for 
all  these  wicked  stories  is  just  that  he  wants  to 
be  Duke ;  but  kings  and  knights  and  crowds  of 
people  are  not  always  very  bright,  though  they 
may  look  so  there  in  the  fire,  and  they  do  not 
feel  so  sure  about  it  as  you  or  I  would.  So 
the  quarrel  lies  between  a  rich  and  powerful 
man  who  is  a  soldier  and  once  saved  the  King's 
life,  with  a  wife  who  is  a  witch  and  knows  all 
about  magic,  and  one  poor  girl  who  knows 
nothing  about  magic  and  who  has  no  friends 
who  would  dare  to  help  her.  For  these  people 
here  about  the  King  are  a  peculiar  sort  of  people 
who  shout  very  loud  about  justice  and  their 
own  rights  and  others'  rights,  but  seldom  do 
anything  unless  they  feel  sure  that  they  are  on 
the  side  that  is  going  to  win.  There  are  no 
such  people  nowadays,  of  course  ;  but  there 
were  once. 

"  But  the  King  himself  is  a  good  king,  and 
he  means  to  be  quite  fair  and  just,  and  he  calls 
for  the  sister  to  come  before  him  and  tell  her 
own  story.  So  the  heralds  blow  their  trum- 
pets again  and  call  for  her,  and  she  comes.  She 
is  dressed  all  in  white,  and  she  looks  so  beauti- 
ful and  pale  and  sad  that  nobody  who  was  not 
wicked  himself  could  ever  suspect  her  of  doing 
anything  wicked,  and  all  the  men  about  mutter 
that  the  one  who  says  that  she  killed  her 


102  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

brother  will  have  to  prove  it.  They  have  just 
heard  the  King  say  something  of  the  kind,  so 
they  feel  very  righteous  and  very  bold  about 
it.  The  King,  then,  asks  her  if  she  can  say 
anything  about  this  dreadful  accusation,  and 
she  tells  him  how  often  she  has  prayed  for 
help,  how,  after  she  has  prayed,  she  has  fallen 
into  a  sweet  sleep  and  has  seen  a  knight  in 
bright  armor,  leaning  on  his  sword,  and  how 
he  has  comforted  her.  This  knight,  she  says, 
shall  be  the  one  to  fight  for  her  and  to  protect 
her. 

"  Now,  of  course,  this  is  all  very  pretty,  but 
it  does  not  seem  to  have  much  to  do  with  the 
question  of  whether  she  killed  her  poor  little 
brother  or  not.  Yet  it  does  have  something  to 
do  with  it,  and  I  will  tell  you  how.  A  long 
time  ago,  hundreds  of  years,  when  people  had 
quarrels,  they  did  not  hire  lawyers  to  argue 
and  plead  and  plot  and  contrive  for  them,  but 
they  just  stood  up  together,  if  they  were  both 
strong  men,  and  fought  till  one  of  them  killed 
the  other  or  showed  that  he  could  if  he  wanted 
to.  And  everybody  who  looked  on  felt  per- 
fectly sure  that  the  one  who  was  right  could 
not  possibly  lose  such  a  fight  and  the  one  who 
was  wrong  could  not  possibly  win  it.  If  one 
of  the  two  who  had  the  quarrel  was  a  woman, 
some  friend  who  trusted  her  enough  to  think 
that  she  was  right  would  fight  for  her." 


The  Knight  of  the  Swan          103 

"  But  what  made  the  man  who  was  wrong 
ever  fight  at  all,"  the  little  girl  asked,  "  if 
everybody  believed  that  he  was  sure  to  get 
beaten  ?  " 

"  I  have  thought  of  that  myself,"  I  admitted, 
"  and  I  think  that  it  must  have  been  for  one  of 
two  reasons :  either  the  bad  people  did  not  be- 
lieve that  the  right  was  sure  to  win,  or  else  the 
people  who  were  wrong  usually  thought  that 
they  were  really  right.  I  believe  that  was  the 
true  reason,  and  it  shows  that  bad  people  are 
not  always  quite  so  bad  as  we  think,  for  they 
usually  contrive  in  some  way,  I  am  sure,  to 
make  themselves  believe  they  are  right.  And 
now,  though  all  these  things  that  I  am  telling 
you  are  things  that  I  see  right  here  in  the  fire, 
yet  they  are  like  things  that  must  have  hap- 
pened long,  long  ago,  and  this  very  way  of 
settling  disagreements  by  a  good  hard  fight  is 
the  way  that  the  question  of  this  poor  girl's 
guilt  or  innocence  must  be  settled.  She  prob- 
ably knows  this  just  as  well  as  anybody,  and 
that  is  what  she  means  when  she  says  that  the 
knight  she  saw  in  her  dream  shall  be  the  one  to 
fight  for  her.  But  the  accuser  turns  every- 
thing against  her,  as  usual,  and  says :  '  You  see 
it  is  just  as  I  said ;  she  is  talking  about  this 
lover  of  hers  who  she  hopes  will  marry  her  and 
be  Duke  instead  of  her  brother.'  Yet  he  says 
he  is  quite  ready  to  fight  anybody  who  wants 


104  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

to  try  it  with  him,  and  he  invites  any  of  the 
men  standing  about  to  come  forward  and  fight 
for  the  poor,  helpless  girl,  if  he  wants  to.  But 
they  all  say  no,  they  should  be  very  sorry  to 
have  to  kill  such  a  great  man  and  so  brave  a 
soldier.  The  truth  is,  you  see,  they  are  all 
afraid  that  if  they  should  fight  they  might  get 
hurt,  and  why  should  they  trouble  themselves 
about  this  girl's  rights  or  wrongs? 

"  Still  she  says  that  the  knight  whom  she 
saw  in  her  dream  shall  be  her  champion,  and 
if  he  will  come  now  and  help  her  in  this  need 
she  will  be  his  bride  if  he  will  take  her,  and  he 
shall  have  all  her  father's  lands  and  his  crown, 
since  her  brother  is  dead.  But  nobody  comes, 
and  the  people  all  begin  to  think  that  she  must 
be  guilty  after  all,  and  that,  instead  of  the  ac- 
cuser having  to  prove  that  she  is,  she  will  have 
to  prove  that  she  is  not,  if  she  wants  any  sym- 
pathy from  them,  though  why  she  should  want 
it  I  hardly  know.  But  the  King  still  means  to 
give  her  every  chance,  and  he  orders  the  her- 
alds to  blow  their  trumpets  toward  the  north 
and  the  east  and  the  south  and  the  west,  and  to 
call  upon  anybody  who  will  defend  her  straight- 
way to  appear.  And  the  heralds  blow  their 
loud  trumpets  and  the  people  gaze  anxiously 
in  all  directions,  but  nobody  comes  to  help  her. 
And  then  she  tells  the  King  that  her  knight 
dwells  far  off  and  does  not  hear,  and  she  begs 


The  Knight  of  the  Swan          105 

him  to  call  upon  him  again,  and  the  heralds 
blow  once  more,  and  she  prays  that  her  knight 
may  be  sent  to  her,  and  now  suddenly  all  the 
eyes  of  the  crowd  are  turned  one  way,  and  all 
the  people  shout  and  point  and  gaze  at  some- 
thing which  they  see  away  in  the  distance. 

"  I  can  see  it  too,  for  there  in  the  fire,  back  on 
the  hearth,  is  a  bed  of  bright  embers  that  shines 
and  glitters  like  a  broad  river  under  the  sun  of 
noon,  and  at  the  very  farthest  place  is  one  little 
spot  brighter  than  all  the  rest,  and  it  seems  to 
come  nearer  and  nearer,  and  as  it  comes  I  begin 
to  make  out  its  wonderful  shape.  There  is  a 
little  boat,  and  in  it  stands  a  knight,  all  in  silver 
armor,  and  it  is  his  armor  that  shines  so.  But 
the  strangest  thing  of  all  is  that  a  beautiful  white 
swan,  its  wings  almost  as  bright  as  the  knight's 
armor,  is  drawing  the  boat  along  by  a  silver 
chain  wound  about  its  neck.  It  is  this  that 
makes  the  people  gaze  and  point,  and,  while 
the  swan  and  the  boat  are  coming  nearer,  I  will 
tell  you  more  about  the  knight  than  he  will  be 
willing  to  tell  about  himself.  Did  you  ever 
hear  of  the  Holy  Grail?  It  was  the  crystal 
cup,  the  old  stories  say,  out  of  which  the  Sa- 
viour drank  at  the  Last  Supper,  and  afterward 
His  blood  was  caught  in  it,  as  He  hung  upon 
the  cross.  Hundreds  of  years  later  it  was  kept 
in  a  beautiful  temple  which  nobody  ever  knew 
how  to  find,  except  a  few  chosen  knights,  who 


io6  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

guarded  the  Grail  and  did  its  bidding,  for  this 
cup  seemed  still  to  have  the  life  of  that  blood 
in  it,  and  it  had  ways  of  telling  its  knights 
what  they  must  do.  And  so  they  were  some- 
times sent  far  away  to  fight  for  the  right  or  to 
punish  wrong,  but  wherever  they  went  they 
never  knew  hunger  or  thirst  or  weariness,  and 
they  could  never  be  killed  or  overcome  in 
battle ;  but  no  one  must  ever  ask  one  of  these 
knights  his  name  or  his  dwelling  place,  and,  if 
anyone  having  the  right  should  ask  these  ques- 
tions, the  knight  must  return  to  the  temple  of 
the  Holy  Grail.  Now,  seven  days  ago  a  bell  in 
the  temple  rang,  all  of  itself,  meaning  that  help 
was  needed  somewhere.  One  of  the  knights 
put  on  his  armor  and  called  for  his  horse,  and 
stood  ready,  but  he  knew  not  where  he  was  to 
go  or  what  he  was  to  do,  till  a  swan  drawing  a 
little  boat  came  sailing  along  upon  the  river, 
and  the  knight  said  :  '  Take  back  the  horse ;  I 
will  go  with  the  swan,'  and  so  here  is  he  come 
to  see  what  help  is  wanted  of  him. 

"  And  now  I  see  him  step  on  shore,  and  the 
girl  whom  he  has  come  to  rescue  knows  him  as 
the  knight  of  her  dream,  and  everybody  is  glad 
of  his  coming  except  the  accuser  and  his  wife, 
the  witch,  and  she,  strangely  enough,  seems  a 
good  deal  more  frightened  at  the  sight  of  the 
swan  than  at  that  of  the  knight.  Now  the 
knight  asks  the  young  girl  whether,  if  he  will 


The  Knight  of  the  Swan          107 

fight  her  battle  and  win  it,  she  will  promise 
never  to  ask  him  whence  he  comes  or  what  he 
is,  and  she  swears  that  she  will  always  love  him 
and  trust  him,  and  will  do  whatever  he  com- 
mands. So  now  the  two  knights,  with  all  the 
people  looking  on  and  holding  their  breaths 
with  anxiety,  and  the  king  watching  that  all 
may  be  done  fairly  and  in  order,  draw  their 
swords  and  stand  against  each  other.  But  I 
see  only  one  or  two  little  flashes  of  the  flames 
as  the  gleaming  swords  are  whirled  above  their 
heads,  and  then  the  wicked  accuser  falls  and 
the  Knight  of  the  Swan  spares  his  life,  while 
all  the  people  shout  and  lift  the  knight  above 
their  heads  on  his  shield,  just  as  if  they  had 
known  all  along  that  the  girl  was  innocent,  and 
just  as  if  they  would  not  have  shouted  just  as 
loud  if  the  battle  had  gone  the  other  way. 

"  The  fire  is  going  down  a  little  and  every- 
thing looks  darker.  It  is  night  now.  Here  on 
one  side  is  a  church,  all  dark,  and  on  the  other 
side,  where  the  light  still  shines,  I  can  see  the 
bright  windows  of  the  palace,  where  they  are 
making  preparations  for  a  grand  wedding  to- 
morrow, and  you  can  guess  who  are  to  be 
married.  On  the  steps  of  the  church,  looking 
up  at  the  palace  windows  and  the  lights  that 
shine  in  them,  are  the  witch  and  her  husband. 
He  is  bemoaning  his  disgrace  and  accusing  his 
wife  of  causing  it  all  by  telling  him  that  the 


io8  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

good  sister  had  killed  her  brother.  And  this 
shows  me,  more  than  anything  he  has  done  be- 
fore, how  bad  he  is,  and  what  a  coward  he  is, 
because,  when  a  man  has  tried  to  gain  things 
that  he  knows  are  not  his  by  ways  that  he 
knows  are  not  right,  he  ought  to  take  all  the 
consequences,  if  he  fails,  like  a  man,  and  not 
snivel  and  say  that  a  woman  made  him  do  it. 
But  the  witch  says  that  there  is  a  chance  yet 
for  them  to  be  revenged,  for,  if  only  the  Knight 
of  the  Swan  can  be  made  to  tell  who  he  is,  he 
will  have  to  go  away  as  he  came  and  be  lost, 
and  she  believes  she  can  find  some  way  to 
tempt  his  bride  to  ask  him  the  forbidden  ques- 
tions, and  then  he  will  have  to  answer. 

"  Now  the  bride  that  is  to  be  to-morrow 
comes  out  upon  a  balcony  of  the  palace,  and 
the  witch,  sending  her  husband  away,  calls  to 
her  and  tells  her  how  sorry  they  both  are  for 
all  that  they  have  done.  No  doubt  they  are 
very  sorry  indeed,  as  they  ought  to  be.  But 
the  bride  is  so  happy  and  so  kind  that  she  can- 
not bear  to  see  anybody  unhappy,  so  she  says 
that  she  forgives  them,  and  if  she  has  injured 
them  in  any  way  she  asks  that  they  forgive  her. 
That  is  absurd,  of  course.  Then  she  lets  the 
witch  talk  to  her  till  the  wicked  woman  says  that 
she  hopes  the  knight  who  came  to  her  in  such  a 
strange  way,  that  nobody  can  account  for,  will 
never  deceive  her,  and  that  she  will  always  live 


The  Knight  of  the  Swan          109 

happily  with  him  ;  and  by  this  she  means,  of 
course,  that  she  thinks  that  he  will  deceive  her 
and  that  she  will  not  be  happy.  But  the  bride 
says  that  she  trusts  her  knight  wholly,  and  she 
asks  the  witch  to  come  in  with  her  and  rest  for 
the  night.  And  that  is  just  the  one  thing  she 
ought  not  to  do,  for  here  is  what  I  hope  you  will 
see  and  remember  more  than  anything  else  in 
all  this  :  be  as  kind  and  as  helpful  and  as  com- 
passionate as  you  can,  always,  but  never  help, 
never  listen  to,  never  allow  to  be  near  you  a 
man  or  a  woman  who  says  one  word  against 
anyone  you  love.  Put  no  trust  in  anyone  till 
you  know  that  trust  is  safe,  and,  when  you  once 
know,  never  hear  of  one  breath  of  doubt  again. 
"  The  fire  burns  higher  and  brighter,  and  the 
morning  is  coming.  The  square  grows  light 
and  fills  with  people.  Now  come  the  heralds 
again,  and  they  sound  their  trumpets  and  pro- 
claim that  the  Knight  of  the  Swan  is  to  have 
the  crown  of  his  bride's  father,  and  is  to  be 
called  Guardian  instead  of  Duke,  that  the  ac- 
cuser of  his  bride  is  an  outcast  and  must  be 
shunned  by  all  men,  and  finally  that  everybody 
to-day  is  to  come  to  the  marriage,  but  that  to- 
morrow all  the  men  must  go  to  the  defence  of 
the  King  and  the  country.  And  now,  with  all 
its  sparkle  and  glitter,  comes  the  procession, 
leading  the  bride  to  the  church,  when,  just  as 
she  is  at  the  door,  right  before  her  stands  the 


no  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

witch,  full  of  anger  and  pride,  and  cries  aloud 
that  it  is  her  place  to  go  before  this  woman, 
and  no  one  shall  keep  her  from  the  place  that 
is  hers,  and  she  taunts  the  bride  with  not  know- 
ing who  or  what  her  knight  is  ;  and  so  a  great 
clamor  arises  among  the  people,  and  in  the 
midst  of  it  come  the  King  and  the  Knight  of 
the  Swan  and  their  train.  The  witch's  wicked 
husband  comes,  too,  and  calls  out  that  the 
knight  beat  him  yesterday  by  magic  and  not 
by  honest  fighting,  and  he  demands  that  the 
King  ask  the  knight  who  he  is.  But  he  and 
his  wife  are  put  aside,  and  the  procession  goes 
into  the  church,  and  as  I  look  into  the  church 
itself  now  the  whole  of  the  fire  is  a  blaze  of 
candles  on  the  altar.  Now  turn  your  face 
away  from  the  fire  as  it  was  before  and  shut 
your  eyes  again.  There  is  no  more  to  be  seen 
in  this  wedding  than  there  was  in  the  battle  of 
the  two  knights,  and  all  that  there  is  I  will  tell 
you. 

"The  light  of  the  candles  on  the  altar 
changes  to  a  blaze  of  wedding  torches,  and  the 
King  and  the  knights  and  the  ladies  are  lead- 
ing the  bride  and  the  bridegroom  to  their 
chamber.  Slowly  and  solemnly,  yet  joyfully, 
they  march  along,  and  it  is  all  so  clear  to  me 
that  I  can  even  hear  the  music  that  they  chant 
as  they  come.  Soft  and  low  it  is  at  first,  and 
then  it  swells  out  fuller;  nd  stronger  and  clear- 


The  Knight  of  the  Swan          1 1 1 

er,  but  always  so  noble  and  pure  and  stately  in 
its  melody  and  its  rhythm  that  nobody  who 
had  once  heard  it  could  ever  forget  how  grand 
and  beautiful  it  was.  I  have  heard  it  many 
times,  and  you  will  hear  it  often,  too,  and  once, 
I  hope  —  I  almost  know  —  you  will  hear  it  at 
one  of  the  sweetest  moments  of  your  life,  and 
whenever  you  hear  it  I  think  it  will  be  more 
full  of  meaning  for  you  if  you  will  think  of  the 
Knight  of  the  Swan  and  his  bride.  But  do  not 
think  of  what  comes  to  them  afterward,  for 
that  need  never  come  to  you  or  to  anyone  who 
remembers  what  I  told  you  a  little  while  ago  ; 
and  if  ever  you  feel  tempted  to  forget  for  one 
moment,  then  think  of  this  true  and  lovely 
music — you  will  know  it  ".veil  and  can  think  of 
it  when  you  like  by  that  time — and  I  am  sure 
you  will  feel  truer  and  better  again  at  once. 

"  But  the  torches  pass  away  and  out  of  sight, 
and  the  knight  and  his  bride  are  left  alone  ; 
and  now  comes  the  sad  part,  for  the  poor  bride 
has  listened  too  much  to  those  who  spoke  evil 
of  her  husband,  or  something  evil  has  come 
into  her  own  mind  and  made  her  forget  her 
promise,  for  she  tells  him  that  she  loves  him  so 
much  that  she  wishes  she  might  know  what  he 
is  whom  she  loves.  Now  this  may  be  very 
natural  and  might  be  very  right  if  she  had  not 
promised  never  to  ask  ;  but  though  he  begs  her 
not  to  demand  of  him  this  one  thing,  yet  she 


ti2  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

implores  him  more  and  more  to  tell  her,  till  at 
last  she  speaks  very  cruelly  to  him,  and  as 
much  as  tells  him  that  he  does  not  love  her  at 
all.  You  would  never  think  that  she  was  the 
same  poor  girl  who  knelt  by  the  river  and 
prayed  that  her  knight  might  be  sent  to  help 
her  in  her  danger.  And  suddenly,  as  he  is 
about  to  tell  her  all  she  asks,  her  old  accuser 
breaks  into  the  room  with  his  men,  and  rushes 
with  his  sword  drawn  to  kill  the  knight,  and 
now  indeed  his  bride  does  seize  his  sword  and 
hold  it  out  to  him,  while  he  draws  it  from  the 
sheath  ;  then  there  is  one  little  flash  of  a  flame 
as  he  swings  it  high  above  his  head,  and  his  en- 
emy lies  at  last  dead  before  him.  He  tells  the 
men  to  take  him  away  and  to  lead  his  bride 
before  the  King,  where  he  will  come  and  tell 
her  everything. 

"  It  is  morning  again  on  the  banks  of  the 
river,  and  the  knights  and  the  people  are  com- 
ing in  crowds  as  I  saw  them  in  the  beginning. 
The  King  comes,  and  the  poor  bride,  sadder 
now  even  than  she  was  at  first.  The  Knight 
of  the  Swan  comes  too,  and  he  asks  the  King 
if  he  did  right  to  kill  his  wicked  enemy,  who 
was  trying  to  kill  him  unprepared.  The  King 
answers  that  he  did  right.  Then  he  says  that 
he  cannot  go  with  the  King  to  his  wars,  be- 
cause his  bride  has  forgotten  her  promise  to 
him,  and  has  asked  him  whence  he  came,  and 


The  Knight  of  the  Swan          113 

now,  by  the  law  which  he  obeys,  as  soon  as  he 
has  answered  her,  he  must  leave  her  and  all 
the  rest  forever.  Then,  while  they  all  listen  in 
sorrow,  he  tells  them  that  he  is  a  Knight  of  the 
Holy  Grail,  and  must  go  back  to  the  temple 
which  he  left  to  come  here  and  help  his  bride. 
And  while  she  weeps  at  the  thought  of  losing 
him,  suddenly  I  see  the  swan  again  on  the 
river,  drawing  the  little  boat  as  before,  ready 
to  take  the  knight  away,  and  then  he  tells  his 
bride  that  if  she  could  but  have  trusted  him 
and  never  questioned  him  for  a  year,  her 
brother  would  have  come  back  to  her. 

"  And  now  for  one  last  time  the  witch  stands 
up,  more  proud  and  revengeful  then  ever,  and 
cries  out  that  she  has  beaten  them  all,  for  the 
swan  is  really  the  brother,  and  that  it  was  she 
who  wound  the  chain  about  his  neck  that  en- 
chanted him  and  made  him  a  swan.  But  while 
she  exults  in  her  triumph,  there  flies  down  over 
the  heads  of  all  of  them  a  beautiful  white  dove. 
It  is  the  dove  that  comes  once  a  year  to  the 
temple  and  strengthens  the  power  of  the  Holy 
Grail,  and  as  the  knight  sees  it  he  kneels  and 
prays  and  then  rises  and  unwinds  the  silver 
chain  from  the  swan's  neck,  and  at  the  very 
instant  the  swan  is  changed  into  a  beautiful 
boy,  the  lost  brother,  and  he  runs  to  his  sister 
and  they  clasp  each  other  in  their  arms,  while 
the  witch  falls  down  upon  the  ground,  over- 


H4  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

come  at  last  and  powerless,  and  the  knight 
steps  into  the  boat,  the  dove  lifts  the  silver 
chain,  and  they  glide  away  upon  the  river, 
farther  and  farther,  and  the  little  spot  where 
they  were,  that  was  the  brightest  in  the  fire, 
grows  dimmer  and  fainter  and  goes  out  and  is 
dark." 

"  And  won't  the  knight  come  back  at  all  ?  " 
asked  the  little  girl. 

"  No,"  I  answered,  "  the  brother  and  the 
sister  are  close  in  each  other's  arms  and  they 
are  gazing  away  upon  the  river  as  far  as  they 
can  see,  but  the  Knight  of  the  Swan  will  never 
come  back." 


THE  PRIZE  OF  A  SONG 


THE  PRIZE  OF  A  SONG 

THE  fire  was  almost  out.  It  was  so  late  in 
the  spring  that  none  at  all  was  needed,  but  we 
liked  it  to  look  at.  As  for  the  little  girl  and  me, 
we  should  hardly  have  known  how  to  get  on 
without  it,  and  the  little  girl's  mother  chose  to 
humor  us.  so  we  wasted  a  great  deal  of  wood,  as 
ignorant  people  would  think,  and  were  just  as 
comfortable  with  the  sky  smiling  and  the  trees 
budding  all  around  us  as  if  we  had  been  in  the 
midst  of  snow-drifts  and  howling  storms.  This 
afternoon  the  sun  had  been  shining  right  in  upon 
the  fire,  as  if  he  would  like  to  know  what  it 
was  doing  there  at  all,  when  he  was  making  the 
weather  quite  warm  enough,  in  the  house  as 
well  as  out.  A  fire  never  burns  well  when  the 
sun  shines  on  it,  and  besides,  nobody  had  taken 
much  care  of  ours,  so  that  after  the  sun  had 
gone  it  looked  very  low  and  discouraged. 

"  Do  you  think  anybody  could  see  anything 
in  a  fire  like  that  ?  "  the  little  girl  asked,  with  a 
doubtful  gaze  into  it  and  a  meaning,  clearly 
enough,  that,  if  I  thought  it  at  all  possible  for 


n8  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

anybody  to  sec  anything,  she  wished  that   I 
myself  would  try. 

"  We  will  put  on  another  stick,"  I  said,  "  and 
have  a  better  fire.  It  will  not  be  a  very  hot 
fire  even  then,  and  with  all  this  soft  spring 
air  about  us,  I  don't  think  we  can  see  any  more 
gods  and  giants  and  knights  and  dragons  in  it. 
But  we  may  see  some  simpler  people,  with 
bright  young  hearts  that  begin  to  stir  and  move 
and  to  beat  quicker  and  harder  in  the  spring,  as 
young  hearts  ought  to  do,  not  only  in  the  spring 
of  the  year,  but  in  their  own  spring,  and  we 
may  perhaps  see  some  people  with  older  hearts, 
which  stirred  and  beat  too  in  their  time,  and  we 
shall  see  by  them  that  those  which  move  freest 
and  grow  warmest  in  their  spring  are  the  full- 
est and  the  richest  in  their  autumn  and  can  never 
be  hurt  in  the  winter,  just  as  the  tree  in  which 
the  sap  flows  best  in  the  spring  spreads  out  the 
broadest  shade  in  the  fierce  heat  of  the  sum- 
mer, bears  the  finest  fruit  in  the  autumn,  and 
lives  the  strongest  till  the  next  spring  comes. 
If  you  ever  tell  any  very  learned  people  what 
we  see  here  in  this  fire  they  may  tell  you, 
perhaps,  that  it  all  happened  on  Midsummer 
Day  and  not  in  the  spring  at  all,  and  they  will 
be  quite  right,  in  their  own  poor  way  of  being 
right,  but  Midsummer  Day  is  not  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  summer,  you  know,  but  just  at  the 
beginning  of  it,  when  the  spring  has  been  gone 


The  Prize  of  a  Song  119 

only  a  few  days.  It  is  then  that  the  lovely  touch 
of  the  spring  has  done  all  that  it  can  for  the 
world,  when  the  sun  climbs  his  very  highest 
in  the  heavens  to  look  at  all  the  sweetness 
and  beauty  that  have  been  spread  over  the 
earth,  when  the  summer  is  young  and  happy 
and  kind  and  has  not  begun  to  burn  and  wither 
everything  that  would  like  to  love  its  bright- 
ness and  its  power.  So  if  you  would  see  all  the 
joy  and  the  light  that  the  spring  can  bring,  you 
must  look  for  them  not  far  from  Midsummer 
Day. 

"  We  shall  not  begin  to  see  all  this  till  our 
new  stick  begins  to  burn  better,  but  in  the 
meantime  we  may  see  some  things  that  are 
pleasant  enough,  if  they  are  not  quite  so  radi- 
ant, and  while  the  fire  is  still  rather  dark,  just 
burning  quietly  in  a  few  little  places,  we  seem 
to  me  to  be  in  a  dim,  old  church.  The  service 
is  just  ending.  In  one  of  the  pews  sits  a  pretty 
girl  who  is  behaving  herself  in  a  most  unbecom- 
ing way,  for  she  is  constantly  sending  shy 
glances  toward  a  young  man  who  leans  against  a 
pillar  not  far  off  and  looks  at  her  in  his  turn  in 
a  way  that  really  ought  to  shock  her,  instead 
of  pleasing  her,  as  it  seems  to  do." 

"  Is  he  a  knight?"  asked  the  little  girl,  in- 
stinctively  knowing  him  for  the  hero  of  the 
story. 

"  Do  you  want  him  to  be  a  knight?" 


120  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

11  Oh,  yes ;  let's  have  just  one  knight,  if  we 
can't  have  any  giants  or  dragons." 

"  I  believe  you  are  beginning  to  see  the  pict- 
ures in  the  fire  yourself.  Well,  he  shall  be  a 
knight,  but  he  shall  not  wear  any  armor  and  he 
shall  not  fight,  and  all  the  rest  of  the  people  we 
see  shall  be  quite  common  people,  mere  trades- 
men, a  goldsmith  and  a  tailor  and  a  toy-maker 
and  a  cobbler  and  the  like.  But  whether  the 
young  man  is  a  knight  or  not,  he  and  the  pret- 
ty girl  ought  to  know  better  than  to  look  at 
each  other  in  that  way  in  church,  with  looks 
that  seem  to  mean  so  much  and  yet  to  have  no 
connection  with  the  service  at  all.  The  service 
is  over  now  and  the  people  all  leave  the  church, 
except  a  few,  but  the  young  knight  and  the 
pretty  girl  stay  behind,  and  he  does  not  lose  a 
minute  in  telling  her  that  he  loves  her  and  that 
he  is  dreadfully  anxious  to  know  if  she  can  love 
him.  Now,  of  course,  as  she  has  done  nothing 
all  through  the  service  but  steal  glances  at  him 
and  probably  could  not  even  tell  what  hymns 
were  sung,  or  whether  there  was  a  sermon  or 
not,  and  has  been  thinking  all  the  time  how 
handsome  he  was,  and  knows  very  well  that  he 
was  looking  at  her  all  the  time,  and  knows 
very  well,  too,  being  a  pretty  girl,  that  he  was 
thinking  how  pretty  she  was,  of  course,  you 
see,  she  could  not  tell  at  all  whether  she 
could  love  him  or  not,  and  such  a  question 


The  Prize  of  a  Song  121 

naturally   throws    her  into   the  greatest  con- 
fusion. 

"  But  while  the  young  man  is  saying  all  the 
pretty  things  that  the  time  allows,  and  the 
young  woman  is  trying  to  think  what  she  shall 
answer,  her  maid,  who  has  been  running  about 
all  this  time,  looking  for  things  she  has  lost, 
bustles  up,  hears  a  part  of  what  the  young  man 
says,  and  tells  him  that  her  mistress  is  already 
betrothed ;  and  the  mistress  quickly  says  yes, 
but  that  nobody  yet  knows  to  whom.  This  is 
such  a  surprising  state  of  things  that  it  needs  an 
explanation  ;  so  the  maid  tells  the  young  knight 
that  her  mistress  is  to  be  given  as  bride  for  a 
prize  to-morrow,  which  will  be  Midsummer 
Day,  to  the  man  who  shall  sing  the  best  song. 
He  asks  if  the  bride  herself  is  to  judge  whose 
song  is  best;  and  at  that  she  makes  up  her 
mind  at  last,  and  says  that  she  will  choose 
nobody  but  him.  But  there  is  something  else, 
for  nobody  can  even  try  for  the  prize  unless  he 
belongs  to  a  certain  company  or  society  of 
poets  and  singers  here  in  the  town,  and  the 
knight,  though  he  has  a  pretty  good  opinion 
of  the  song  he  could  make  if  he  should  try,  is 
quite  a  stranger  here.  And  now,  as  if  for  the 
very  purpose  of  helping  the  knight,  comes 
another  young  man,  who  turns  out  to  be  a  pren- 
tice, and  he  begins  arranging  benches  and 
chairs  in  some  queer  sort  of  way,  while  the 


122  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

looks  that  he  casts  at  the  maid  and  the  looks 
she  throws  back  at  him  show  that  they  are  not 
total  strangers ;  and  he  tells  them  that  these  very 
poets  and  singers  are  to  meet  here  in  a  few 
minutes,  and  that  if  anybody  wants  to  join  them 
he  will  have  a  chance  to  sing  to  them  and  to 
prove  whether  he  is  worthy. 

"  So  the  young  man  of  course  determines 
that  he  will  try,  and  it  is  clear  that  he  expects 
nothing  in  the  world  but  that  he  will  carry 
everything  before  him  ;  and  while  the  young 
women  hurry  away,  the  prentice  tells  him  some- 
thing about  the  singers,  who  are  always  called 
masters,  and  the  queer  rules  that  they  have  for 
making  all  their  songs.  Queer  enough  they 
are,  too,  and  so  many  that  if  you  were  to  hear 
them  all  you  would  think  that  they  were  quite 
enough  to  prevent  anybody's  ever  making  a 
song  at  all ;  but  the  most  important  thing  that 
the  knight  learns  is  that,  while  he  is  singing,  the 
judge  will  make  a  mark  with  chalk  every  time 
he  breaks  a  rule,  and,  if  more  than  seven  chalk 
marks  are  scored  against  him,  he  cannot  be  a 
master,  and  so  cannot  try  for  the  prize  that  he 
wants  so  much  to  win  to-morrow. 

"  Now  the  masters  begin  to  gather  for  their 
meeting,  coming  in  one  by  one  and  two  by  two. 
First  comes  a  goldsmith,  the  father  of  the 
pretty  girl  we  have  just  seen.  With  him  is  a 
queer-looking,  awkward,  self-conceited  man, 


The  Prize  of  a  Song  1 23 

who,  anybody  can  see  in  a  minute,  must  be  a 
town  clerk.  From  what  he  is  saying  to  the 
goldsmith  it  is  clear  that  he  means  to  try  for  the 
prize  of  his  daughter's  hand  to-morrow.  He  is 
in  no  doubt  that  he  can  sing  better  than  any- 
body else,  but  is  not  sure  that  the  goldsmith's 
daughter  will  think  so.  That  is  a  very  unlucky 
thing  that  happens  to  singers  sometimes ;  they 
themselves  know  perfectly  well  that  they  can 
sing  better  than  anybody  else  anywhere  about, 
but  all  the  other  people  are  so  stupid  that  they 
will  not  understand  it. 

"  The  young  knight,  who  knows  the  gold- 
smith, tells  him  now  that  he  wants  to  join  this 
company  of  singers,  and  be  a  master  too  ;  and  the 
goldsmith  says  that  he  shall  be  glad  to  help  all 
he  can.  But  the  town  clerk  overhears  them, 
and  he  sees  at  once  that  what  the  knight  wants 
is  to  sing  for  the  prize  to-morrow.  Now,  the 
rule  is,  you  remember,  that  nobody  but  a  mas- 
ter may  even  try  for  the  prize  ;  so  the  jealous 
town  clerk  resolves  that  he  will  keep  the  young 
man  from  becoming  a  master.  And  it  happens, 
by  good  luck  for  him  and  bad  luck  for  the 
knight,  that  it  is  his  turn  to-day  to  take  the 
chalk  and  mark  the  mistakes  that  are  made  in 
singing  by  anybody  who  tries  to  prove  himself 
worthy  to  be  a  master. 

"  When  the  masters  are  all  met,  the  goldsmith 
makes  a  little  speech,  and  tells  them  how  the 


124  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

prize  is  to  be  given  to-morrow.  They  are  to 
decide  who  wins,  but  his  daughter  is  to  judge 
too.  She  may  choose  none  without  their  voice, 
but  she  may  refuse  any.  That  is  no  more  than 
fair,  of  course.  No  girl  would  like  to  be  mar- 
ried to  a  man  just  because  the  lines  of  his  poetry 
came  out  right  when  somebody  else  counted 
them.  Yet  the  masters  all  argue  and  dispute 
and  suggest  about  the  rules  ;  but  in  the  end  they 
agree  to  do  just  what  the  goldsmith  says,  since 
they  cannot  do  anything  else. 

"  Now  comes  the  trial  of  the  young  knight 
who  wants  to  be  a  master.  The  town  clerk 
goes  behind  a  curtain,  with  his  slate  and  his 
chalk,  and  you  may  be  sure  he  does  not  forget 
his  promise  to  himself  that  the  knight  shall  fail. 
Then  the  young  man  stands  up  in  the  midst  of 
them  all  and  sings  his  song.  A  happy,  free, 
beautiful  song  it  is.  It  tells  first  how  the  spring 
came  into  the  forest  and  awakened  the  trees 
and  brought  the  flowers.  Then  it  tells  how  the 
spring  came  into  the  young  man's  own  heart, 
as  you  know  I  told  you  it  ought  to  do,  and  how 
it  made  him  sing  of  love ;  and  that  is  quite  right 
too,  though  perhaps  I  forgot  to  say  so  before. 

"  But  happy  and  beautiful  as  the  song  is,  it 
is  scarcely  begun  before  the  most  dreadful 
scratching  of  the  chalk  is  heard  behind  the  cur- 
tain. All  the  masters  begin  to  shake  their 
heads,  too,  for  this  knight  is  bold  enough  to 


The  Prize  of  a  Song  125 

make  his  own  song  in  his  own  way,  and  he 
knows  and  cares  no  more  about  the  rules  and 
measures  of  these  masters  for  making  songs 
than  you  know  or  care  about  the  game  laws  of 
Scotland.  So  by  the  time  the  song  is  half  over, 
out  rushes  the  town  clerk  with  his  slate,  not 
with  the  eight  marks  on  it  that  would  end  the 
singer's  hopes  of  being  a  master,  but  with 
nearer  eighty.  He  vows  the  case  is  hopeless, 
and  as  he  shows  the  slate  to  the  other  masters 
they  all  seem  to  agree  with  him,  though  they 
are  not  all  quite  so  jealous  as  he  is. 

"  All  but  one ;  for  there  is  one  old  shoemaker 
who  says  that  he  thinks  the  song  was  very 
good.  It  did  not  follow  the  rules,  but  it  had 
rules  of  its  own,  and  he  liked  it.  Then  there  is 
trouble  indeed.  For  any  man  to  say  in  this  old 
church  and  this  old  town  that  a  song  can  be 
good  when  it  has  one  line  too  many  or  one 
rhyme  too  few  is  almost  as  bad  as  for  him  to 
say  that  the  King  is  bald-headed  and  that  the 
oldest  princess  has  freckles.  All  the  masters 
say  that  to  let  such  a  song  pass  is  out  of  the 
question,  and  that  the  shoemaker  is  quite  ab- 
surd to  think  of  such  a  thing.  At  this  the  shoe- 
maker declares  that  the  town  clerk  is  not  a  fair 
judge,  because  he  is  jealous.  At  that  again  the 
town  clerk  says  that  the  shoemaker  had  better 
not  talk  so  much  about  poetry,  but  go  home 
and  finish  the  shoes  he  has  ordered.  Now,  the 


126  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

shoemaker  is  really  the  only  one  of  all  the 
masters  who  knows  anything  at  all  about 
poetry;  but  now  and  then,  years  ago,  a  man 
who  knew  a  great  deal  had  to  stand  aside  and 
let  others,  who  knew  very  little  but  could  talk 
louder,  do  what  they  liked  in  their  own  way. 
That  is  what  the  shoemaker  has  to  do  now,  and 
for  this  time  the  knight  has  failed. 

"  What  a  bad  fire  we  have,  to  be  sure !  It  is 
getting  lower  and  lower,  and  even  our  new 
stick  will  not  burn.  While  everything  is  as 
dark  as  this  we  shall  have  to  think  that  it  is 
night.  Never  mind,  we  can  see  a  little  still, 
and  the  little  that  I  can  see  is  the  street  of  the 
old  town,  with  its  queer  old  houses  and  peaked 
roofs  and  sharp  steeples.  Here,  on  one  side, 
where  there  is  a  bit  of  light  shining  like  a  glow 
in  a  window,  is  the  shop  of  our  old  cobbler  ;  and 
over  there,  with  no  light  at  all,  the  fire  is  so 
bad,  is  the  goldsmith's  house.  The  cobbler  is 
sitting  outside  his  door,  trying  to  work;  but 
the  light  is  as  bad  for  him  as  it  is  for  us,  and, 
besides,  he  cannot  think  of  his  work,  much  less 
do  it.  He  is  thinking,  I  know,  of  the  young 
knight  and  his  song,  and  is  wishing  that  he 
might  win  the  prize  to-morrow,  master  or  no 
master.  His  heart  had  its  spring-time  once, 
you  may  be  sure,  and  its  glowing  summer,  and 
they  have  brought  it  a  rich,  peaceful  autumn, 
such  as  they  alone  can  bring.  That  was  why 


The  Prize  of  a  Song  127 

he  knew  all  the  meaning  of  the  song  and  liked 
it,  though  it  broke  every  one  of  his  own  rules. 
And  so,  like  the  good  old  fellow  that  he  is,  he 
wishes  the  man  who  sang  the  song  all  joy  and 
good  luck — and  the  prize. 

"  While  he  is  thinking  of  all  this,  comes  the 
goldsmith's  daughter,  for  she  has  heard  that 
the  young  man  has  failed,  and  she  is  sad,  and 
wants  to  talk  to  some  one.  Perhaps,  too,  she 
wants  to  know  something.  They  talk  about 
to-morrow,  of  course,  and  the  shoemaker  tells 
her  that  the  town  clerk  means  to  sing  for  the 
prize.  At  that  the  prize  herself  gets  quite 
alarmed,  for  she  likes  the  town  clerk  no  better 
than  you  or  I  do.  '  But  why  should  he  not 
win  ? '  the  shoemaker  says  ;  '  there  will  not  be 
many  bachelors  there  to  try.' 

" '  And  might  not  a  widower  try  ? '  she  asks 
slyly. 

"  Now,  the  shoemaker  knows  that  she  means 
himself,  but  he  says  no,  he  is  too  old.  And  then 
the  absurd  girl  actually  urges  him  to  try, 
though  she  does  not  want  him  the  least  bit, 
and  does  not  want  anybody  except  the  young 
knight,  who  makes  such  beautiful  songs  that 
are  all  out  of  shape.  When  you  get  to  be  a 
woman,  perhaps  you  will  know  why  she  does 
this;  but  I  confess  I  do  not.  Perhaps  she  thinks 
that  the  shoemaker  would  not  be  half  so  bad 
as  the  town  clerk,  or  perhaps  she  onl\  wants  to 


128  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

find  out  if  the  shoemaker  really  does  mean  to 
sing,  so  that  she  may  know  whether  he  is  the 
knight's  friend  or  his  enemy.  At  any  rate,  he 
pretends  to  be  not  half  so  much  the  friend  of 
the  young  people  as  1  know  he  really  is,  and 
when  she  is  beginning  to  get  quite  angry  with 
him  her  maid  comes  and  tries  to  lead  her  into 
the  house.  But  just  at  this  moment  the  knight 
himself  is  seen  coming  down  the  street,  and 
not  a  step  toward  the  house  does  she  go  after 
that. 

"  The  shoemaker  has  gone  into  his  shop  now, 
and  the  lovers  are  alone.  He  tells  her  how  he 
sang  his  very  best,  that  he  might  be  a  master, 
because  that  was  the  only  way  to  win  her,  and 
it  was  of  no  use.  But  she  does  not  care  wheth- 
er he  failed  or  not.  She  declares  that  he  is  a 
poet,  that  she  will  give  the  prize  herself  and  to 
nobody  but  him  ;  so  now  what  do  you  suppose 
it  matters  to  him  if  all  the  masters  in  the  world 
said  that  his  songs  were  wrong?  He  will  not 
sing  for  them,  and  they  need  not  listen. 

"  There  is  just  one  way  now,  as  anybody  can 
see,  for  him  to  make  sure  of  the  prize,  and  that 
is  to  take  it  while  he  has  it.  And  that  is  just 
what  he  is  about  to  do.  But  I  am  sorry  to  see 
that  the  cobbler,  behind  the  door  of  his  shop, 
has  been  impolite  enough  to  listen  to  all  this 
important  talk  about  poets  and  songs  ;  and  he 
sees  that  if  he  lets  these  two  run  away  together 


The  Prize  of  a  Song  129 

now,  there  will  be  no  prize  and  no  singing  for 
to-morrow.  So  he  sets  a  lamp  in  his  window, 
right  there  where  the  fire  is  kind  enough  to 
burn  for  us  a  little  at  last,  and  sends  the  light 
streaming  out  across  the  street,  and  the  lovers 
know  that  if  they  try  to  pass  they  will  be  seen. 
And  while  they  are  helping  each  other  think 
what  they  can  do,  somebody  else  comes  slowly 
down  the  street,  walking  in  the  shadows  and 
looking  around  to  see  if  he  is  watched,  like  a 
burglar.  It  is  the  town  clerk,  and  he  has  come 
here  just  to  sing  under  the  window  of  the  gold- 
smith's daughter  the  song  that  he  means  to 
sing  to-morrow,  to  see  if  she  will  like  it  and  if 
she  will  probably  give  it  the  prize.  Oh,  he  is 
a  good,  honest  poet  and  faithful  lover,  and  he 
means  to  leave  nothing  untried  that  can  help 
him.  One  does  not  get  a  chance  to  marry  a 
goldsmith's  daughter  every  day. 

"  All  this  is  annoying  enough,  but  there  is 
nothing  for  the  lovers  to  do  but  to  wait  for  the 
town  clerk  to  sing  and  go  away  ;  so  they  get 
into  the  deepest  shadow,  and  then  they  put 
their  arms  around  each  other  so  that  they  can 
stand  closer  and  not  be  seen  so  easily.  It  is  a 
good  plan  for  another  reason,  too,  because 
some  people  can  wait  much  more  patiently  in 
that  position  than  in  any  other.  But  things 
are  getting  worse  and  worse,  for  the  shoe- 
maker seems  bound  to  have  his  part  of  the  fun 
9 


130  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

too  ;  and  just  as  the  town  clerk  is  about  to  sing 
he  begins  to  work  again  and  to  hammer  on  his 
last.  This  is  the  most  impolite  shoemaker,  I 
suppose,  that  this  polite  old  town  ever  saw,  if 
he  is  a  poet.  Think  of  a  man  who  will  hammer 
on  a  shoe  when  a  town  clerk  is  going  to  sing, 
and  a  song  that  he  made  himself,  too.  Some- 
thing must  be  done,  of  course;  so  the  town 
clerk  comes  and  talks  with  the  cobbler,  and 
pretends  that  he  is  very  anxious  to  get  his 
opinion  of  the  song  he  is  going  to  sing.  That 
seems  natural  enough,  because  everybody 
knows  that  the  cobbler  is  the  best  poet  in 
town.  So  they  agree  that  whenever  the  town 
clerk  breaks  a  rule  in  his  song  the  cobbler 
shall  strike  one  blow  on  his  last,  just  as  if  he 
were  marking  the  mistakes  on  the  slate,  the 
way  the  town  clerk  himself  did  with  the  knight. 
"  Oh,  but  he  must  be  a  good  town  clerk,  he 
knows  so  many  tricks,  and  can  always  arrange 
everything  so  well  to  make  it  go  his  way.  The 
town  is  lucky  to  have  such  a  clerk.  Yet, 
strange  to  say,  the  minute  he  begins  to  sing,  he 
makes  more  mistakes  than  even  the  poor  young 
knight  did,  and  it  is  really  a  question  whether 
his  song  or  the  shoemaker's  pounding  makes 
the  more  noise.  Mind,  I  say  noise,  not  music  ; 
if  it  were  a  question  of  music  the  shoemaker 
would  be  far  ahead.  Well,  between  them,  they 
wake  up  the  shoemaker's  prentice,  and  he 


The  Prize  of  a  Song  131 

comes  to  the  window  of  the  shop,  to  see  what 
is  the  matter.  He  is  the  same  prentice  whom 
we  saw  in  the  church,  who  looked  at  the  gold- 
smith's daughter's  maid  in  such  a  strange  way, 
you  remember.  And  now,  as  he  looks  across 
at  the  house  opposite,  he  sees  the  goldsmith's 
daughter's  maid  again,  standing  at  the  window. 
She  is  standing  there  in  one  of  her  mistress's 
gowns,  to  make  the  town  clerk  think  that  the 
mistress  herself  is  listening  to  his  song ;  and  he 
does  think  so,  but  the  poor  prentice  knows  who 
she  is  very  well  indeed.  And  since  he  knows 
who  she  is,  of  course  he  makes  up  his  mind  at 
once  that  the  town  clerk  is  singing  to  her,  that 
he  loves  her,  and  that  just  as  likely  as  not  she 
loves  him.  No  doubt  you  think  he  might 
know  better ;  and  perhaps  he  might,  if  he  were 
not  so  much  in  love  with  the  goldsmith's 
daughter's  maid ;  but  when  a  man  is  in  love  he 
is  always  ready  to  believe  anything  that  it  is 
particularly  uncomfortable  for  him  to  believe. 

"  So,  what  does  the  shoemaker's  prentice  do 
but  jump  right  out  of  the  window,  fetch  the 
good  town  clerk  one  blow  under  the  chin,  that 
shuts  his  mouth  and  stops  his  singing,  and  be- 
gin just  as  lively  a  fight  with  him  as  any  we 
ever  saw  among  our  knights  and  giants  and 
dragons.  They  make  so  much  noise  that  more 
people  wake  up,  and  come  out  of  their  houses 
into  the  street ;  and,  since  the  old  town  is  usu- 


132  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

ally  a  bit  dull  and  quiet,  they  find  this  just  the 
sort  of  thing  they  like,  and  they  all  begin  fight- 
ing, too,  with  a  jolly  good  will.  Of  course,  not 
one  of  them  has  the  slightest  notion  of  what  he 
is  fighting  about ;  but  that  makes  no  difference 
to  any  good,  honest  fighter,  and  there  is  a  fine 
breaking  of  heads  and  kicking  of  shins.  Just 
as  everything  is  in  the  most  delightful  confu- 
sion possible,  the  knight  and  the  goldsmith's 
daughter  try  to  make  their  way  through  the 
crowd  and  escape  ;  but  the  troublesome  old 
shoemaker,  who  has  been  watching  them  from 
the  very  beginning,  runs  quickly  out,  pushes 
the  girl  to  her  own  door,  where  her  father 
stands  to  receive  her,  drags  the  knight  into  his 
shop,  seizes  his  prentice  too,  and  shuts  his  door 
behind  him.  Somebody  cries  that  the  watch- 
man is  coming;  the  people  scatter  right  and 
left,  and,  by  the  time  that  little  flame  there 
under  the  andiron  has  burned  up  and  shown  it- 
self to  me  as  the  old  watchman's  lantern,  it 
shines  on  nothing  but  the  quiet,  empty  street. 

"  But  there  is  more  light  than  the  watchman's 
lantern,  for  our  new  stick  is  beginning  to  burn 
now.  The  night  must  be  past,  and,  if  the  night  is 
past,  it  is  Midsummer  Day.  It  is  not  so  bright 
yet  as  it  might  be.  Let  us  put  on  still  another 
stick,  and  have  all  the  Midsummer  weather 
we  can.  I  see  a  room  now,  not  very  handsome 
or  rich,  but  very  comfortable  and  cheerful, 


The  Prize  of  a  Song  133 

with  flowers  in  the  window  and  more  flowers 
scattered  about.  It  is  the  old  shoemaker's 
shop,  and  the  old  shoemaker  himself  sits  at  the 
window,  pretending  to  read,  but  really  think- 
ing, as  usual,  about  the  young  knight  who  sings 
to  please  himself  and  not  to  obey  other  people's 
rules,  and  about  the  goldsmith's  daughter ;  and 
he  is  trying,  also  as  usual,  to  plan  some  way  to 
make  the  prize  go  as  he  wants  it  to  go.  He 
does  not  quite  see  how  it  is  to  be  done,  but  he 
has  a  comfortable  feeling  that  it  will  all  come 
out  right ;  and  while  he  is  studying  over  it,  the 
knight  himself  comes  out  of  the  room  where 
he  has  slept  to  say  good-morning. 

"  He  tells  the  shoemaker  that  he  has  had  a 
beautiful  dream,  and  the  shoemaker  asks  him 
what  it  was,  saying  that  it  is  the  true  business 
of  a  poet  to  have  dreams  and  to  tell  them,  so 
that  everybody  may  know  them.  So  the  knight 
tells  his  dream,  making  it  into  a  song  as  he 
goes  along,  and  now  and  then  the  shoemaker 
stops  him  quietly  to  tell  him  what  are  the  rules 
of  the  masters  for  making  such  songs  as  this. 
The  knight  always  asks  why  such  rules  should 
be,  and  the  shoemaker  gives  him  some  pretty 
reason  for  each  one,  and  he  shows  that  the 
rules  are  not  so  bad  after  all,  if  only  one  knows 
how  to  use  them  and  to  make  the  most  of 
them.  The  dream  was  about  a  beautiful  gar- 
den with  a  tree  that  bore  fruit  of  gold,  and  as 


134  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

the  dreamer  looked  at  it  there  came  a  lovely 
maiden,  who  you  may  be  sure  was  the  gold- 
smith's daughter,  and  she  embraced  him  and 
then  pointed  to  the  fruit  of  the  tree,  and  when 
she  pointed  to  it,  it  was  golden  fruit  no  longer, 
but  stars,  and  the  tree  itself  was  a  laurel-tree. 

"  You  may  guess  that  the  poor  old  masters 
never  heard  such  a  song  as  this.  As  the  knight 
sings  it  the  shoemaker  writes  it  down  on  a 
bit  of  paper  and  tells  the  knight  to  remember 
the  melody,  and  then  they  go  away  together. 
Scarcely  have  they  gone  when  the  door  opens 
softly  and  in  a  treacherous-looking  sort  of  way 
that  must  be  strange  to  the  shoemaker's  door, 
and  in  comes  the  town  clerk.  Ridiculous 
enough  he  looks  in  his  gorgeous  holiday 
clothes,  and  limping  along,  because  of  the  beat- 
ing that  the  prentice  gave  him  last  night.  And 
angry  enough  he  is,  too,  with  the  shoemaker 
and  the  prentice  and  the  knight  and  the  world 
in  general,  except  himself,  with  whom  it  might 
be  reasonable  for  him  to  be  angry.  You  can 
see  a  wicked  red  glow,  right  there  in  the  middle 
of  the  fire,  where  he  stands.  But  he  has  not 
forgotten  about  the  prize — oh,  not  in  the  least. 
He  is  still  plotting  and  contriving  how  he 
can  best  make  sure  of  it,  and  so  it  does  not 
take  long  for  his  sharp  little  eyes  to  find  the 
song  lying  on  the  table,  where  the  shoemaker 
left  it  when  he  went  out. 


The  Prize  of  a  Song  135 

"  Now,  there  is  one  peculiar  thing  about  these 
people  who  can  see  through  mill-stones,  and  that 
is,  that  they  sometimes  think  they  are  seeing 
through  one  when  there  is  really  no  mill-stone 
there  at  all ;  just  as  you  and  I  might  think  we 
were  looking  through  a  glass  window  when  it 
was  only  an  empty  sash.  Just  see,  for  instance, 
how  much  cleverer  the  town  clerk  is  than  there 
is  any  sort  of  need  for  him  to  be.  He  sees  that 
this  song  is  a  song  ;  well,  anybody  could  see 
that.  He  sees  that  it  is  in  the  shoemaker's 
handwriting;  anybody  who  knew  the  shoe- 
maker's handwriting  could  see  that.  But  now 
he  takes  the  liberty  of  guessing  that  the  shoe- 
maker made  this  song  himself,  and  that  he  is 
going  to  sing  it  himself  for  the  prize.  So  he 
gets  more  angry  still,  for  he  knows  that  the 
shoemaker  is  the  best  poet  in  all  this  dear  old 
town,  where  anybody  can  be  a  poet  by  learning 
the  rules,  and  he  knows  that  if  the  shoemaker 
tries  to  win  the  prize  he  will  probably  do  so. 
But  he  hears  the  shoemaker  coming  back  and 
he  has  just  time  to  hide  the  song  in  his  pocket. 

"Now  he  boldly  accuses  the  shoemaker  of 
meaning  to  sing  for  the  prize.  It  may  seem  to 
you  that  it  is  no  affair  of  his  whether  the  shoe- 
maker means  to  sing  or  not,  and  it  may  seem 
so  to  me  too,  but  we  are  not  town  clerks.  Yet 
the  shoemaker  assures  him  that  he  does  not 
mean  to  sing,  accuses  him  in  turn  of  stealing 


136  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

the  song,  and  then,  to  prove  his  own  words, 
gives  it  to  him.  With  that  the  town  clerk  is 
altogether  delighted,  for  he  is  one  of  those 
shallow  people  who  think  that  when  one  man 
has  done  a  good  thing,  another  man  can  do  just 
as  well  as  he  by  doing  the  same  thing.  He 
feels  sure  that  if  he  sings  one  of  the  shoemaker's 
songs  he  cannot  fail  to  win  the  prize,  and  he 
makes  the  shoemaker  promise  that,  whatever 
happens,  he  will  not  claim  the  song  as  his.  The 
shoemaker  is  quite  ready  to  promise  anything, 
because  he  is  a  wise  old  soul  and  he  knows  that 
it  is  not  altogether  what  one  does,  but  pretty 
largely  how  one  does  it,  as  a  cobbler  or  as  a 
town  clerk  or  as  a  singer,  that  wins  him  fame 
and  honor — and  Midsummer  Day  prizes. 

"  The  town  clerk  hobbles  away,  and  now  who 
should  come  in  but  the  goldsmith's  daughter 
herself?  Well,  no  one  could  wonder  at  her 
lover's  having  pleasant  dreams,  for  she  is  as 
pretty  a  prize  as  ever  a  poet  sang  a  song  for, 
or  to,  or  about.  With  her  best  gown  and  her 
flowers  and  her  jewels,  and  especially  with  her- 
self, I  don't  think  you  could  find  any  prize  that 
a  poet  would  rather  have,  even  in  a  town  twice 
as  big  as  this.  It  seems  there  is  something 
wrong  about  the  shoe  that  the  cobbler  has 
made  for  her  to  wear  to-day,  and  she  has  come 
to  get  him  to  mend  it.  I  wonder,  by  the  way, 
if  she  knows  that  the  knight  was  the  shoe- 


The  Prize  of  a  Song  137 

maker's  guest  last  night.  She  says  that  when 
she  wants  to  stand  still  the  shoe  insists  on  walk- 
ing, and  when  she  wants  to  walk  the  shoe  makes 
up  its  mind  to  stand  still.  You  see  yourself 
what  a  remarkable  and  improper  way  this  is  for 
a  shoe  to  behave.  It  is  so  strange  that  I  am  in- 
clined to  doubt  if  it  is  the  fault  of  the  shoe  at 
all,  or  if  she  really  knows  whether  she  wants  to 
walk  or  stand  still.  You  see  it  is  not  easy  for 
us  to  tell  just  how  a  girl  would  feel  at  being 
put  up  for  a  prize. 

"  While  the  cobbler  is  at  work  on  the  shoe, 
the  knight  too  appears,  and  the  cobbler  hints 
that  he  should  like  to  hear  the  rest  of  the  dream 
that  the  young  man  began  to  tell  him  before. 
So  he  sings  more  of  his  song  and  tells  how  the 
stars  among  the  branches  of  the  laurel -tree 
formed  a  crown  for  the  lovely  maiden's  head, 
how  her  eyes,  as  he  looked  into  her  face,  were 
to  him  brighter  than  all  of  them,  and  how  then 
she  twined  with  her  own  hand,  about  his  head, 
the  wreath  of  the  star-fruit  of  the  laurel-tree, 
and  still  and  always  he  saw  her  eyes  brighter 
than  the  stars. 

"  After  he  has  sung  this  they  all  seem  to  un- 
derstand one  another  better.  The  goldsmith's 
daughter's  maid  comes  in  to  look  for  her  mis- 
tress, the  prentice  tumbles  in  to  look  for  the 
maid,  or  for  something  else,  and  away  they  all 
start  for  the  fields  outside  the  town,  where  all 


138  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

who  will — that  is,  if  they  are  masters  and  may 
— are  to  sing  for  the  prize. 

"  At  last  the  fire  is  burning  as  it  ought,  and 
we  can  see  all  the  life  and  light  that  we  care  to 
enjoy.  Those  flames  that  stream  up  so  far 
must  mean  that  the  sun  has  mounted  his  very 
highest  to  mark  the  noon  of  Midsummer  Day, 
and  the  floods  of  merry  sparks  that  pour  up  the 
chimney  are  not  brighter  or  merrier  than  the 
throngs  of  people,  men  and  women,  boys  and 
girls,  that  walk  and  run,  and  caper  and  dance, 
and  tumble  out  of  the  city  gates  and  into  the 
meadows  where  the  singing  is  to  be.  But  there 
is  more  gravity  all  at  once  when  the  masters 
come.  They  are  mighty  and  important  per- 
sons at  any  time,  and  above  all  they  are  so  to- 
day, when  they  are  to  decide  who  is  to  have 
this  wonderful  prize.  They  have  a  higher 
place  to  sit  than  the  rest  of  the  meadow,  and 
the  common  people  of  the  town,  who  do  not 
pretend  to  be  poets  at  all,  can  stand  wherever 
they  can  find  room.  The  goldsmith  and  his 
daughter  have  the  highest  seats  of  all,  and  the 
shoemaker  is  next  to  them,  for  he  is  supposed 
to  know  a  good  song  when  he  hears  it.  All  the 
other  masters  have  good  places  too,  including 
the  town  clerk.  The  knight  is  somewhere  in 
the  crowd  of  people  who  know  nothing  about 
poetry. 

"  When  everything  is  ready  the  town  clerk 


The  Prize  of  a  Song  139 

is  the  first  to  sing  his  song  for  the  prize,  be- 
cause he  is  the  oldest  of  those  who  are  to  try, 
and  indeed  he  seems  to  be  about  the  only  one, 
with  the  knight  quite  out  of  the  race,  because 
he  did  so  badly  in  the  church  yesterday.  So 
the  town  clerk  stands  forth,  and  after  a  little 
opening  plink-plunk  on  his  guitar,  he  tries  to 
sing  the  knight's  own  song,  which  the  shoe- 
maker gave  him,  knowing  well  that  he  would 
get  into  trouble  with  it.  And  indeed,  the 
dream  that  he  tells  about  must  have  been  a 
nightmare,  though  nobody  who  hears  him 
knows  what  it  is  about,  and  the  poor  town 
clerk  seems  to  know  least  of  all.  He  has  the 
song  under  his  coat  and  tries  to  look  at  it  now 
and  then,  but  he  reads  it  wrong  and  sings 
nonsense,  and  in  a  moment  all  the  people  are 
laughing  at  him,  even  those  who  do  not  know 
a  good  song  when  they  hear  it,  for  they  seem 
to  know  a  bad  song  very  well  when  they  hear 
it. 

"  At  that  he  gets  angry,  stops  singing,  and 
says  that  the  song  is  not  his  at  all  but  the  shoe- 
maker's, and  he  is  to  blame.  Here  is  a  fine 
state  of  things,  for  the  shoemaker  is  supposed, 
as  I  said  before,  to  know  more  about  songs  than 
any  of  the  other  people  in  town,  and  indeed  he 
knows  more  about  most  things  than  all  of  them 
put  together.  He  says  that  the  song  is  not  his, 
but  that  it  is  good  enough,  if  only  it  could  be 


140  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

sung  right,  and  he  asks  if  there  is  anybody  here 
who  knows  how  to  sing  it. 

"  This  is  the  time  for  the  young  knight,  and 
he  comes  forward  from  the  crowd  and  says 
that  he  will  try.  But  first,  the  shoemaker 
makes  all  the  masters  promise  that  if  he  sings 
the  song  well  and  if  it  is  a  good  song  he  shall 
have  all  the  honor  just  as  if  he  were  a  master. 
Now  the  young  man  takes  his  place  and  every- 
body is  still.  He  looks  straight  at  the  gold- 
smith's daughter ;  he  does  not  know  that  there 
are  any  others  around  him  ;  and  now  he  sings. 
And  what  a  glorious  song  it  is,  full  of  hope  and 
happiness  and  victory  and  joy !  He  did  not 
sing  like  this  to  the  masters  in  the  church  yes- 
terday ;  not  even  to  the  shoemaker  this  morn- 
ing did  he  sing  like  this.  It  is  not  hard  to  see 
the  reason.  Yesterday  he  tried  to  be  a  master, 
and  when  he  sang  he  was  wondering  how  these 
fussy  old  fellows  would  measure  his  song  with 
their  rhyme-gauges  and  their  foot-rules.  How 
could  anybody  sing  when  he  was  thinking  of 
that  ?  Even  then  it  was  not  a  bad  song  and 
the  goldsmith's  daughter  would  have  known  it 
if  she  had  been  the  judge.  The  shoemaker, 
with  his  warm  old  spring-time  heart,  knew  it  as 
it  was,  but  the  masters  were  too  learned  ever 
to  know  anything.  But  now  the  goldsmith's 
daughter  is  the  judge  and  the  young  poet  sings 
only  to  her,  only  for  her,  only  about  her.  If 


The  Prize  of  a  Song  141 

one  smile  curves  her  pretty  lips  as  he  sings,  it 
is  more  to  him  than  the  shouts  of  all  the  peo- 
ple. That  is  the  way  to  sing,  and  that  is  why, 
when  he  is  done,  all  the  people  do  shout,  and 
do  clap  their  hands  and  wave  their  hats,  and 
do  cry  out  that  he  must  have  the  prize. 

"  And  he  does  have  the  prize.  She  crowns 
his  head  with  a  wreath  of  laurel,  which  he  cares 
for  only  because  she  sets  it  there,  and  the  gold- 
smith himself  brings  him  the  gold  chain  that 
makes  him  a  master.  This  the  young  man 
would  put  aside,  but  the  wise  old  shoemaker 
bids  him  take  this  too,  and  to  honor  the  masters 
and  their  art ;  for,  he  says,  though  the  Holy 
Roman  Empire  should  vanish  in  smoke,  yet  art 
will  remain.  And  I  think  he  means  by  this  that 
all  the  kingdoms  of  the  earth  may  be  lost  and 
may  fall  into  dust  and  ashes,  as  our  fire  here 
will  do  when  we  leave  it  to-night,  but  that  the 
happy  young  people,  with  their  stirring  hearts 
of  spring,  and  the  kindly  old  people,  with  their 
ripe  hearts  of  autumn,  will  still  sing  songs  and 
still  tell  stories." 


THE   BLOOD-RED   SAIL 


THE  BLOOD-RED   SAIL 

THE  fire  had  been  out  for  weeks.  Somebody 
who  pame  from  the  country  had  almost  filled 
the  fireplace  with  a  huge  bouquet  of  wild  roses. 
They  made  it  look  very  pretty  for  a  few  days, 
but  now  the  roses  had  all  faded  and  fallen  to 
pieces  too,  and  nobody  cared  enough  even  to 
sweep  up  the  dry,  dead  leaves  and  throw  them 
out.  It  all  looked  forsaken  and  desolate  enough. 
But  it  was  no  more  desolate  than  I.  We  were 
lonely  and  unhappy  for  the  same  reason,  the 
poor  fireplace  and  I,  because  the  little  girl  had 
gone  away  with  her  mother  down  to  the  sea  and 
would  not  be  back  for  more  weeks  and  weeks 
yet.  The  city  was  so  hot  and  dull  and  stupid  ! 
It  made  me  feel  dull  and  stupid  to  stay  in  it,  ex- 
cept when  it  made  me  angry.  Yet  perhaps  the 
fireplace  was  even  a  little  worse  off  than  I, 
though  it  was  not  more  forsaken  and  alone,  for 
it  had  no  work  to  do,  while  I  had  plenty.  Then 
again  the  fireplace,  in  spite  of  all  the  wonderful 
and  beautiful  things  we  had  seen  in  it  sometimes, 
had  never  been  anywhere  except  just  where  it 
was  now,  and  it  knew  nothing  about  the  sea. 


146  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

But  I  had  been  in  several  other  places ;  and  even 
in  the  city,  with  the  heat  pouring  down  from 
the  sky  and  quivering  up  from  the  pavements, 
one  can  dream  of  "  waters,  winds,  and  rocks," 
and  dreams  are  good  things  to  have  for  those 
who  can  have  nothing  else. 

And  I  had  the  dreams  and  something  else. 
For  the  little  girl  and  her  mother  had  said  that 
I  might  come  down  to  the  sea  too,  whenever  I 
thought  the  city  could  get  on  without  me. 
What  surprised  me  was  that  the  city  got  on  at 
all,  but  all  the  time  I  thought  more  and  more 
that  I  was  of  no  use  to  it,  and  it  was  of  no  use  to 
me,  and  finally  I  left  all  my  work  in  it  to  take 
care  of  itself  and  fled  away  to  the  sea.  Oh,  how 
lovely  it  was !  That  first  long  unbroken  sight 
of  the  line  where  the  sky  and  the  water  met 
made  me  feel,  as  I  always  feel  at  such  times,  that 
it  was  worth  half  the  year's  worry  and  care  just 
to  see  this  ocean  and  this  heaven,  to  breathe  this 
free,  salt  air,  to  smell  the  flowers  by  the  road- 
side, and  to  gaze  and  gaze  again  at  the  two  great 
tracts  of  peaceful  blue.  How  wonderful  is  this 
calm  rest  of  a  thing  that  can  rage  and  destroy 
when  it  will !  The  peace  of  a  field  of  daisies  is 
pretty  and  sweet ;  the  peace  of  the  ocean  is  like 
that  of  God. 

The  little  girl  and  I  had  a  long  walk  along 
the  beaches,  over  the  rocks,  and  through  the 
tall,  salt  grass.  We  hunted  among  the  smooth, 


The  Blood-red  Sail  147 

round  pebbles  for  the  smoothest  and  the  round- 
est ;  we  studied  the  jelly-fish  that  was  borne  up 
the  beach  by  the  wave  and  then  glided  swiftly 
back  again  with  it,  as  if  it  had  forgotten  some- 
thing, till  one  wave,  higher  than  the  others, 
would  leave  it  lying  on  the  sand  at  our  feet, 
where  we  could  study  it  as  much  as  we  liked ; 
we  wondered  if  the  jelly-fish  ever  did  forget 
anything  and  if  he  had  remembered  it  now,  so 
that  he  did  not  want  to  go  back  any  more.  We 
caught  little  crabs  and  made  them  run  races, 
laying  huge  wagers  on  our  favorites  ;  I  filled  my 
pocket,  and  the  little  girl  filled  her  handkerchief 
with  the  tiny,  pointed  shells  that  can  be  strung 
into  such  pretty  necklaces.  Then  we  found  a 
great,  bright,  curly  ribbon  of  seaweed,  as  wide 
as  two  hands,  so  long  that  when  the  little  girl 
held  it  by  the  middle  she  could  scarcely  lift  the 
ends  off  the  sand,  and  rich  and  beautiful  in 
color  like  dark-red  tortoise-shell.  The  little  girl 
looped  one  end  of  it  around  her  head  and  wound 
the  rest  about  her  body,  so  that  she  looked  a 
true  little  sea  princess. 

All  day  a  fresh,  cool  breeze  came  up  from  the 
sea,  so  different  from  the  air  of  the  dreadful  city. 
Toward  evening  it  grew  cooler  yet.  The  wind 
blew  more,  and  little  shreds  and  patches  of  fog, 
and  then  larger  clouds  of  it,  hurried  along  over 
the  fields.  We  could  see  them  coming,  away 
off  over  the  water,  then  they  reached  the  shore 


148  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

and  hid  the  walls  and  the  pastures,  then  they 
wrapped  us  up  within  themselves  and  passed  us, 
and  we  saw  them  flying  off  again  as  if  they  were 
trying  to  carry  a  chill  from  the  sea  as  far  into 
the  land  as  they  could.  And  it  was  chilly  after 
the  sun  was  quite  gone — not  very  cold,  but  just 
cool  enough  so  that  everybody  thought  it  would 
be  pleasant  to  have  a  bit  of  fire  on  the  hearth. 
And  when  we  thought  a  fire  would  be  pleasant 
we  always  had  it. 

Of  course  down  there  we  never  think  of  mak- 
ing a  fire  of  anything  but  driftwood.  It  makes 
the  most  wonderful,  magical  fire  in  the  world. 
One  could  dream  out  stories  for  a  whole  even- 
ing from  the  wood  alone.  Here  is  a  stick  that 
must  have  been  a  part  of  a  spar.  Was  it  blown 
away  from  the  mast  in  a  gale  ?  Now  hold  your 
breath  and  think  if  some  poor  sailor  was 
blown  off  into  the  waves  with  it.  Did  he  catch 
at  this  very  stick  as  he  sank?  Did  his  wife 
wait  and  wait  for  him  at  home,  till  his  shipmate 
came  and  told  her?  Here  is  a  little  piece 
of  smooth  board,  with  a  bit  of  cornice  fastened 
to  the  end.  It  must  be  from  the  wall  of  a 
cabin.  Did  the  captain's  daughter  and  the 
young  mate  sit  under  it  and  whisper  stories  to 
each  other  in  the  calm  evenings  of  the  voyage  ? 
There  is  a  piece  of  barrel  -  stave.  Perhaps  it 
once  held  rum  for  the  sailors'  grog ;  it  burns 
as  if  it  did.  There  again  is  a  float  from  a  fish- 


The  Blood-red  Sail  149 

erman's  net.  Was  the  net  torn  when  it  broke 
away,  and  did  the  fisherman  lose  some  fish? 
And  because  of  that  did  his  sweetheart  per- 
haps lose  a  ribbon  or  a  trinket  ?  Then  here  is 
a  broken  fragment  of  a  lobster  pot.  Even  this 
might  be  some  loss  to  a  poor  man.  And  not 
only  are  all  these  things  and  a  hundred  times 
as  many  more  to  be  thought  of,  but  all  this 
wood  has  been  soaked  in  the  salts  of  the  sea, 
and  when  it  burns  the  flames  are  of  all  sorts  of 
strange  and  beautiful  and  ghostly  colors — white 
and  red  and  green  and  blue  and  yellow  and 
violet. 

Everybody  feels  the  charm  of  a  driftwood 
fire.  The  little  girl  surely  could  not  help  feel- 
ing it,  and  she  came  and  sat  on  the  stool  at  my 
feet,  leaned  her  head  against  my  knee,  and 
gazed  at  the  flames  without  saying  a  word. 
But  I  answered  her  thought.  "  Yes,"  I  said, 
"  we  may  see  almost  anything  in  that  fire. 
Look  at  that  strip  of  cocoanut  husk.  Does  i'; 
not  tell  of  green  palm-groves  and  sunny  skies 
and  warm  breezes?  Yet  as  it  lies  there  on  its 
curved  side,  with  the  two  ends  lifted  from  the 
hearth,  has  it  not  the  shape  of  a  galley,  like 
those  in  which  the  rude  old  pirates  of  the 
North  used  to  sweep  over  the  sea,  bringing  ter- 
ror to  all  who  came  in  their  way?  It  is  all 
burnt  and  blackened,  and  right  over  it  rises  a 
tall  flame  of  bright  red.  It  is  a  black  ship,  with 


150  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

sails  all  of  the  color  of  blood.  The  strangest 
of  ships  it  is,  and  it  has  the  strangest  of  stories. 

"Long,  long  years  ago,  in  a  fearful  storm, 
the  captain  tried  to  sail  this  ship  around  the 
cape.  The  captain  of  another  ship  hailed  him 
and  asked  him  if  he  did  not  mean  to  find  a  har- 
bor for  the  night.  But  he  swore  a  terrible  oath 
that  he  would  sail  around  the  cape  in  spite 
of  Davy  Jones,  if  it  took  till  doomsday.  At 
this  Davy  Jones  was  angry,  and  swore  on  his 
part  that  it  should  take  till  doomsday,  that 
the  captain  should  sail  in  the  storm  till  then 
and  should  never  get  around  the  cape.  Do 
you  know  who  Davy  Jones  is?  He  is  the 
wicked  spirit  of  the  sea.  When  the  winds  and 
the  waves  rage  and  tear  away  the  sails  of  the 
ships,  or  sink  the  ships  or  drive  them  upon  the 
reefs,  it  is  his  work ;  when  it  is  all  smooth  and 
calm  and  sparkling,  as  we  saw  it  to-day,  then 
the  good  fairies  of  the  sea  are  there  and  are 
making  everything  about  it  calm  and  happy. 

"  But  the  fairies  never  came  near  this  ship. 
She  was  always  driven  about,  and  there  was 
a  storm  wherever  she  went.  Never  could  her 
captain  bring  her  into  any  port  and  never  could 
he  round  the  cape.  Only  for  years  and  years 
he  sailed  and  sailed  in  the  storm,  and  found  no 
harbor  and  no  rest.  At  first  he  was  bold  and 
tried  to  sail  on  and  gain  his  port;  then  he 
was  angry  and  raged  again,  and  swore  that  he 


The  Blood-red  Sail  151 

would  not  be  beaten ;  then  he  was  in  despair ; 
and  at  last  he  grew  so  weary  with  the  storm 
and  the  sea  and  the  clouds  and  again  the 
wind  and  the  sky  and  the  ocean  and  yet  the 
rain  and  the  waves  and  the  fog,  that  he  longed 
only  to  die  and  to  be  at  peace. 

"  But  he  did  not  die,  and  no  one  of  his  crew 
died.  The  sailors  all  grew  old,  and  their  hair 
and  their  beards  were  white,  and  they  looked 
like  ghosts,  and  their  ship  was  like  the  ghost  of 
a  ship ;  but  they  were  not  ghosts ;  they  were 
real  men  and  they  sailed  in  a  real  ship.  Some- 
times the  crews  of  other  ships  saw  them. 
Sometimes  they  hailed  the  crews  of  the  other 
ships  and  begged  them  to  take  letters  to  their 
friends  at  home.  They  said  that  their  almanac 
had  been  blown  away  and  they  did  not  know 
how  long  they  had  been  from  home.  They 
would  lower  a  boat  and  row  to  the  ship  they 
had  hailed,  in  a  sea  that  would  swamp  any 
other  boat  in  half  a  minute,  and  so  they  would 
bring  their  letters  on  deck.  Those  who  knew 
their  story  refused  to  take  the  letters,  and  then 
the  sailors  would  nail  them  to  the  mast  or  lay 
them  on  the  deck,  with  a  heavy  weight  to  keep 
them  from  blowing  away,  and  go  back  to  their 
own  ship.  So  the  letters  sometimes  reached 
their  homes,  for  it  was  said  to  bring  bad  luck 
either  to  take  their  letters  willingly  or  to  throw 
them  away  when  they  were  left  on  the  ship. 


152  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

11  But  oh,  what  of  those  to  whom  the  letters 
were  sent  ?  Once  a  captain  brought  a  packet 
of  them  to  the  port  from  which  the  strange  ship 
had  sailed.  Not  one  of  those  to  whom  they 
were  directed  could  be  found,  and  he  opened 
some  of  them,  hoping  that  the  letters  them- 
selves  might  tell  him  some  way  of  finding  the 
sailors'  friends.  One  of  the  sailors  had  written 
to  his  father  that  after  this  voyage  he  meant 
to  live  on  the  land  with  him  and  never  to  go  to 
sea  again.  When  the  captain  took  this  letter  to 
its  address,  he  found  a  man  of  the  right  name, 
but  the  man  said :  '  No,  no,  the  letter  is  not  for 
me;  no  son  of  mine  is  a  sailor.  None  of  our 
family  ever  went  to  sea  except  one,  for  there  is 
an  old  story  that  my  great-grandfather's  brother 
once  went  away  in  a  ship  and  that  the  ship  was 
never  heard  of  again.  For  years  his  old  father 
used  to  dream  about  him  and  to  declare  that 
his  ship  still  floated,  and  he  died  believing  that 
his  boy  was  yet  alive.  No,  that  is  my  name  on 
the  letter,  but  it  is  not  for  me.'  One  sailor  had 
sent  a  bank-note  to  his  sister,  but  where  her 
house  stood  there  was  a  church,  and  it  had  been 
there  for  a  hundred  years.  Another  in  his  let- 
ter sent  a  pressed  tropical  flower  to  his  sweet- 
heart. It  was  of  the  color  that  looked  pretty 
in  her  hair,  but  the  poor  fellow  forgot  that 
pressing  it  would  spoil  it  for  that.  The  cap- 
tain, despairing  of  delivering  the  letters,  went 


The  Blood-red  Sail  153 

into  the  church,  and  there,  on  one  of  the  stones 
of  the  floor,  he  read  the  sweetheart's  name.  It 
said  that  she  was  ninety  years  old  when  she 
died,  and  the  words  were  almost  worn  away  by 
the  feet  that  had  crossed  them.  The  captain 
dropped  the  flower  upon  the  stone,  and  the  next 
morning  it  was  swept  away. 

"So  the  sailors  grew  so  old  that  it  seemed 
they  could  not  grow  any  older.  Then  slowly 
they  began  to  know  what  they  had  always  re- 
fused to  believe,  that  they  had  been  sailing  for 
years  and  for  hundreds  of  years,  and  that  all 
who  ever  knew  them  and  loved  them  had  been 
long,  long  dead.  Then  their  eyes  grew  more 
hollow,  and  their  hair  and  their  long  beards 
thinner,  and  their  faces  more  wrinkled  and 
withered,  and  it  was  as  if  all  the  blood  had 
dried  out  of  their  hearts.  Perhaps  it  was  when 
the  blood  went  out  of  their  hearts  that  it  stained 
the  sails  that  dreadful  red.  So  much  for  the 
crew,  but  it  was  different  with  the  captain. 
Davy  Jones  was  preparing  something  worse 
yet  for  him,  or  thought  he  was.  He  was  tired 
of  seeing  him  simply  wander  hopelessly  on  the 
ocean;  he  wanted  to  plague  him  more.  He 
could  do  this,  he  thought,  by  giving  him  now 
and  then  a  little  hope  and  then  shattering  it 
and  sinking  it  to  the  bottom  of  the  sea,  and 
dragging  the  man's  heart  to  the  bottom  of  the 
sea,  too,  with  a  leaden  load  of  despair. 


154  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

"  The  captain  had  never  grown  to  look  old, 
and  now,  to  carry  out  his  wicked  plan,  Davy 
Jones  promised  that  once  in  every  seven  years 
he  might  enter  a  port  and  go  on  shore,  and  if 
ever  he  should  find  a  good  woman  who  would 
love  him  and  give  her  life  for  him,  he  might  rest 
and  never  sail  again ;  but  when  he  failed  to  find 
such  a  woman  he  must  go  on  board  his  ship 
again  and  sail  through  the  storm  and  the  wind 
and  the  waves  for  seven  years  more.  Now, 
Davy  Jones  would  never  have  promised  this  if 
he  had  thought  that  there  could  be  such  a  good 
and  loving  woman,  but  being  only  a  wicked 
spirit  of  the  sea  he  did  not  know  much  about 
good  women. 

"  And  for  a  long  time  his  plan  did  succeed  and 
the  poor  captain  was  more  wretched  than  ever. 
Once  in  seven  years  he  would  go  on  shore  to 
seek  that  true  woman,  and  as  often  he  would  re- 
turn to  his  ship  and  sail  away.  Good  women 
he  found  many,  but  none  of  them  would  love 
him.  Then  his  heart  would  fill  with  bitterness, 
for  he  saw  them  loving  and  giving  their  lives  to 
men  who,  he  could  not  but  know,  were  less  brave 
and  patient  and  worthy  of  them  than  he ;  faith- 
less men  who  forgot  them,  cruel  men  who  mis- 
used them,  dull  men  who  knew  not  their  own 
blessings.  Why  should  they  love  such  men  as 
these  and  never  him  ?  Now,  you  and  I,  who 
are  so  wise,  know,  of  course,  that  such  thoughts 


The  Blood-red  Sail  155 

were  selfish  and  wicked.  For  what  was  he  to 
any  woman  that  she  should  give  her  life,  or 
even  an  hour  of  it,  for  him  ?  Was  his  life  or 
his  peace  better  than  another's,  that  another's 
should  be  given  for  his?  Why  should  any 
woman  love  him  when  there  were  so  many 
others  for  her  to  love  ? 

"  But  he  never  thought  of  these  things,  so  he 
would  rage  against  all  women  and  he  would 
steer  his  ship  into  the  most  awful  waves  and 
whirlpools,  hoping  that  she  would  be  wrecked 
and  sunk,  but  his  ship  was  never  harmed ;  and 
he  would  steer  toward  pirates,  hoping  that  they 
would  kill  him  for  the  chests  of  gold  he  had,  but 
even  the  pirates,  when  they  saw  his  blood-red 
sails,  would  cross  themselves  and  flee  from  him. 
Then  the  seven  years  would  pass  and  he  would 
go  on  shore,  and  now,  perhaps,  a  woman  would 
say  that  she  loved  him  ;  yet  when  the  time  came 
she  would  not  give  her  life  for  him,  and  he 
would  throw  himself  down  upon  his  face  on  the 
deck  of  his  ship  and  steer  nowhere,  but  still 
drive  on  through  the  wind,  the  black  waves,  the 
black  storm,  and  his  own  blacker  despair." 

"  Oh,  my  !  "  said  the  little  girl,  "  that's  awfully 
nice  and  ghosty,  but  I  thought  this  was  the  best 
fire  we  ever  had,  and  now  you  don't  see  any- 
thing  in  it  at  all." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  do,"  I  replied,  "  I  have  seen  the 
ship  all  the  time,  .that  black  ship  with  its  sail  of 


156  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

red  flame.  I  have  seen  it  tossing  upon  the  sea, 
sweeping  up  till  the  flame  of  its  sail  almost 
touched  the  clouds,  and  then  plunging  down 
into  the  black  water,  but  always,  always  rush- 
ing on  with  the  storm  around  it  and  with  never 
any  rest.  And  I  have  seen  the  angry  clouds 
tearing  across  the  sky  ;  you  can  see  them  your- 
self when  the  smoke  flies  up  the  chimney,  and 
then  when  the  white  flames  are  flickering  and 
flashing  up  and  then  dying  down,  you  can  think 
that  you  see  the  lightning.  Yes,  and  you  can- 
not help  hearing  the  wind,  whistling  up  there 
around  the  top  of  the  chimney  as  it  would 
whistle  through  the  rigging  of  a  ship. 

"  The  seven  years  have  passed  again,  and  now 
the  ship  has  come  to  land,  that  the  captain  may 
try  the  little  chance  once  more  that  has  failed 
him  so  often.  The  red  flame  has  dropped  down, 
for  the  sails  are  furled,  and  the  wind  has  stopped 
for  a  minute,  too,  while  the  ship  is  at  anchor, 
and  there  is  no  need  for  the  storm  to  pursue  it. 
I  see  the  captain  walking  on  the  shore  and  talk- 
ing with  the  master  of  another  ship  that  is  an- 
chored near  by.  The  master  tells  him  that  he 
lives  only  a  few  miles  away,  and  asks  him  if  he 
will  come  and  spend  the  night  with  him  on 
shore.  The  captain  replies  that  for  a  little  rest 
at  his  house  he  will  give  the  master  untold  treas- 
ures from  his  ship.  He  makes  a  sign  to  his  men 
and  they  bring  a  big  chest.  He  opens  it  and 


The  Blood-red  Sail  157 

shows  the  master  that  it  is  full  to  the  top  of  gold 
and  pearls  and  rubies  and  emeralds,  that  flash 
and  shine  with  all  the  colors  that  ever  our  drift- 
wood fire  can  show  us. 

"  Such  a  price  for  a  night's  or  a  year's  lodg- 
ing the  master  never  dreamed  of.  He  cannot 
believe  that  such  wealth  is  all  for  him,  and  he 
asks  what  he  can  ever  do  for  the  captain  to  earn 
it.  'Have  you  not  a  daughter?'  the  captain 
asks.  You  see  he  knows  how  to  go  about  his 
work  without  loss  of  time,  even  though  he  has 
never  been  very  lucky  in  it. 

" '  Indeed  I  have,'  the  master  answers,  '  a 
good,  true,  lovely  girl.' 

"  '  Give  her  to  me,'  says  the  captain,  'for  my 
wife ;  that  is  all  I  ask.' 

"  The  master  thinks  that  is  a  good  deal  to 
ask,  but  not  too  much,  when  he  looks  at  the 
chest  again,  and  he  says,  joyfully  enough  :  '  You 
shall  have  her,  indeed ;  I  know  such  a  man  as 
you  will  make  a  good  son-in-law ;  come  home 
with  me  quickly.' 

"  So  each  goes  on  board  his  own  ship.  The 
master  sails  first  to  lead  the  way,  and  then  the 
red  flaming  sail  springs  up  again  and  the  black 
ship  is  off  the  shore.  And  the  storm  howls 
again  too;  the  waves  rise,  the  clouds  tear 
across  the  sky,  and  in  a  minute  the  ship  has 
passed  out  of  sight. 

"  Listen  to  the  wind  around  the  chimney.     It 


158  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

was  roaring  and  whistling  a  minute  ago,  but 
now  it  is  not  so  loud.  It  grows  fainter  still,  till 
its  sound  is  no  more  a  roar  or  a  whistle,  but 
only  the  lightest  humming  of  a  wind,  and  to 
me  all  the  wind  seems  gone  now  and  it  is  the 
hum  of  whirling  spinning  wheels  that  I  hear. 
And  what  I  see  is  a  room  where  a  dozen  girls 
sit  spinning  and  singing  songs  about  their 
wheels  and  about  their  lovers.  But  one  among 
them  does  not  spin.  She  lets  her  wheel  stand 
idle  and  only  sits  and  looks  at  a  picture  that 
hangs  on  the  wall.  It  is  of  a  dark  man  with 
black  hair,  a  black  beard,  and  deep,  piercing 
eyes ;  it  is  the  captain  whom  we  have  seen  so 
much  already.  The  other  girls  laugh  at  her, 
say  that  she  is  in  love  with  the  picture,  and  ask 
her  why  she  does  not  sing  with  them.  She 
cannot  sing  their  happy  songs,  she  says.  Then 
they  ask  her  to  sing  by  herself,  and  she  sings 
them  a  song  about  the  captain.  It  tells  them 
his  story,  as  we  know  it  already,  and  as  she 
sings  they  all  stop  their  wheels  and  begin  to 
gather  around  her,  and  in  spite  of  all  their 
merriment  it  moves  them  at  last,  as  such  a  sad 
story  ought  to  move  anybody. 

"And  when  she  has  finished  they  all  say, 
'Ah,  poor  fellow,  if  only  some  good  woman 
would  save  him  from  his  dreadful  lot!  But 
who  would  do  it  and  give  up  her  own  life?' 

" '  I  would  do  it,'   she  replies,   « and  I  hope 


The  Blood-red  Sail  159 

that  the  winds  may  blow  him  here,  so  that  I 
can  tell  him  that  I  am  ready  to  love  him  and  to 
save  him.' 

"  The  others,  who  are  very  charming  girls, 
no  doubt,  but  just  now  not  quite  so  noble  and 
resolute  as  this  one,  are  almost  frightened  to 
hear  her  talk  so,  and  when  somebody  says  that 
her  father  is  coming  they  all  slip  away  and 
leave  her  to  meet  him  alone,  while  they  chatter 
among  themselves  about  what  a  strange  girl 
she  is  to  want  to  give  her  life  for  a  man  whose 
black  hair  and  piercing  eyes  she  has  never  even 
seen  except  in  a  picture.  Her  father  is  the  ship- 
master whom  we  saw,  as  you  have  guessed  by 
this  time,  and  he  has  brought  the  stranger  cap- 
tain home  with  him.  'This  is  my  daughter,' 
he  says ;  '  is  she  not  all  and  more  than  all  that  I 
told  you  ? ' 

"  Then,  having  always  found  her,  no  doubt,  a 
good  and  obedient  child,  he  tells  her  at  once  that 
the  captain  is  to  stay  with  them,  and  that  he  ex- 
pects her  to  be  his  wife.  Some  girls  do  not 
like  to  be  ordered  to  marry  even  the  men  they 
love;  but  she  is  so  true  and  simple  and  kind 
that  she  means  to  love  the  captain  with  all  her 
heart,  and  even  her  father's  wish  that  she  shall 
do  so  cannot  change  her.  The  father  thinks 
very  wisely  that  they  will  get  on  better  without 
him,  so  he  leaves  them,  and  they  do  get  on  bet- 
ter at  once.  First  they  gaze  for  a  long  time 


160  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

into  each  other's  eyes,  those  deep,  piercing,  sad 
eyes  of  the  captain,  and  those  true,  soft,  young 
eyes  of  the  master's  daughter.  Then  he  thinks 
that  her  face  is  not  strange  to  him,  as  he  re- 
members, dimly  at  first  and  then  more  clearly, 
that  he  has  seen  this  face  in  dreams  many  times, 
when  it  was  the  face  of  an  angel  who  was  to 
save  him  from  his  long  weariness.  And  the 
dreams  were  not  far  wrong,  for  she  looks  into 
his  eyes  with  no  thought  for  herself,  but  only : 
'  This  is  one  who  has  suffered  for  many  years 
and  must  suffer  for  many  years  more,  unless  I 
love  him  and  save  him.' 

"  He  asks  her  if  she  can  give  herself  wholly 
to  him,  and  she  answers  that,  whatever  his  fate 
may  be  and  whatever  hers,  she  will  take  it  all 
and  will  be  all  his  own  forever.  '  If  you  knew 
what  it  would  cost  you  to  be  true  to  me,'  he 
says,  'you  would  shrink  away  from  me  and  try 
to  save  yourself.'  '  Never,'  she  answers  ;  '  let 
it  cost  what  it  will,  I  will  be  true  to  you  till 
death.' 

"I  see  the  shore  and  the  sea  again.  This 
time  it  is  near  the  master's  house,  and  the  two 
ships  are  moored  not  far  apart.  The  red  sails 
are  furled,  but  on  the  ship  there  is  the  little 
pale  blue  flame  of  a  ghostly  watch-fire.  The 
captain  comes  out  of  the  house  and  strides  up 
and  down  along  the  shore.  All  the  gladness 
that  he  had  when  we  saw  him  last  is  gone — no, 


The  Blood-red  Sail  161 

not  all,  but  there  is  doubt  and  perplexity  with 
it  now.  The  fact  is  that  the  captain  has  learned 
something  now  that  he  never  knew  before. 
All  these  weary  years  he  has  been  longing  and 
hoping  for  some  good  woman  to  love  him,  but 
he  has  never  thought  much  about  loving  any 
good  woman.  What  right  had  he  to  expect 
anything  when  he  meant  to  give  nothing  ?  He 
has  never  thought  of  this  before,  but  he  thinks 
of  it  now.  And  the  reason  is  that  now,  when 
he  has  found  a  woman  who  loves  him  and  will 
gladly  die  for  him,  he  finds  too  that  he  loves 
her  as  well ;  and  if  he  loves  her,  how  can  he  let 
her  die  for  him  ?  She  is  so  good  and  unselfish 
that  perhaps  it  would  be  a  happiness  to  her  to 
do  it,  but  it  is  the  more  to  his  credit  that  he 
does  not  think  of  that. 

"  That  is  why  he  paces  up  and  down  the  shore 
and  fights  hard  with  himself.  Only  think  of  it. 
For  all  these  many  years,  while  other  men  were 
living  happy  lives  and  growing  old,  and  their 
children  and  their  grand-children  were  growing 
old  too,  the  angry  winds  and  waves  have  driven 
him  about  and  have  given  him  no  rest ;  now  this 
woman  could  save  him,  but  his  love  tells  him 
that  he  ought  to  save  her  instead.  Can  he  save 
her  and  go  back  again  to  the  rage  of  the  storm 
and  live  in  it  forever,  live  in  it  till  doomsday  ? 
Oh,  it  is  a  hard  fight,  but  at  last  he  answers  yes ; 
all  that  he  has  borne  so  long  he  can  bear  still 


1 62  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

longer.  The  sea  shall  swallow  his;ship  and  cast 
it  up  again,  the  clouds  shall  sink  down  upon  it, 
the  winds  shall  drive  it  over  the  whole  ocean, 
but  she  shall  not  die  because  of  him.  And  it 
will  not  be  with  him  quite  as  it  was  before ;  now 
he  will  remember  through  all  the  hundreds  of 
years  that  are  to  come  that  she  loved  him  once, 
he  will  think  of  her  always,  and  thinking  of  her 
he  will  wait  for  doomsday. 

"  I  see  him  go  on  board  his  ship  again ;  he  is 
calling  to  his  men  ;  they  are  hoisting  the  sails ; 
see  the  red  flame  spring  up  again.  The  storm 
comes  again  too.  Look  at  the  black  smoke 
that  is  like  flying  clouds,  and  hear  the  wind  up 
there  around  the  chimney.  But  now  out  of  her 
father's  house  comes  the  master's  daughter. 
She  sees  the  ship  speeding  away,  and  in  an  in- 
stant she  knows  all  the  reason  ;  she  knows  it  be- 
cause she  would  have  done  the  same  if  she  had 
been  the  captain.  Then  she  runs  to  a  high  rock 
that  stands  out  into  the  sea ;  she  calls  through 
the  loud  wind  that  drowns  her  voice  that  she 
will  come  to  him  and  will  be  true  to  him  till 
death,  and  then  she  leaps  from  the  rock  into 
the  rough,  raging  waves.  But  look ;  the  waves 
that  very  instant  are  rough  and  raging  no  more ; 
the  sea  is  all  still ;  the  clouds  are  gone,  and  the 
wind  is  silent.  The  ship  with  the  blood-red  sails 
is  sinking  out  of  sight.  See  how  the  red  flame 
dies  down  and  the  black  hull  is  breaking  to 


The  Blood-red  Sail  163 

pieces.  And  right  where  it  was  I  can  see  the 
captain  and  the  master's  daughter  rising  out  of 
the  sea  together,  with  a  beautiful  light  around 
them,  as  beautiful  as  all  the  colors  of  our  fire  can 
make  it.  They  seem  to  float  along  the  water, 
away  and  away,  and  I  think  the  good  fairies  of 
the  sea  must  be  taking  them  to  Fairyland  or  to 
some  pleasant  island,  where  they  will  always 
live  happily  together." 

The  fire  blazed  up  brighter  than  ever  for  a 
minute  and  then  dropped  down  again.  "  Come 
here  to  the  window,"  I  said ;  "  see  how  the 
fog  has  all  cleared  away  and  has  left  the  moon 
shining  down  upon  the  sea.  What  a  broad 
track  of  light  it  makes  from  the  shore  here 
where  it  is  nearest  us,  away  off  to  the  edge  of 
the  sky  !  How  the  little  flecks  and  sparkles  of 
light  run  and  dance  and  chase  one  another,  and 
how  happy  and  glad  they  seem,  riding  the  little 
ripples  of  waves  in  the  light  of  the  moon  !  Are 
they  the  sea  fairies,  dancing  and  playing  to- 
gether and  calming  the  water,  to  bring  the 
sailors  safe  back  to  their  homes,  do  you  think?" 


THE  LOVE  POTION 


THE  LOVE   POTION 

THERE  was  a  beautiful  moon  and  everybody 
said  it  was  a  pity  to  have  it  wasted.  So  indeed 
it  was,  and  everybody  asked  everybody  else 
what  we  should  do  to  prevent  its  being  wasted. 
A  few,  who  had  made  the  best  possible  use  of 
more  moons  than  the  rest  of  us,  were  in  favor 
of  simply  sitting  on  the  rocks  and  looking  at 
the  moon  and  the  sea  under  it.  That  was  really 
not  a  bad  plan  at  all.  When  you  sit  with  some- 
body beside  you  and  the  rest  of  the  party  not  too 
near,  on  a  high  rock  that  runs  far  out  into  the 
water,  and  look  at  the  big  white  moon  and  the 
soft  colors  of  the  sky  around  it,  and  then  at  the 
stretch  of  water,  unobstructed  to  the  horizon, 
with  the  moon's  reflection  broken  by  the  waves 
into  a  million  dancing  sparkles,  when  you  turn 
and  look  toward  the  beach,  seeing  the  black 
surges  rolling  swiftly  up  to  the  shore  and  then 
breaking  into  gleaming  foam,  but  still  plunging 
on,  like  banks  of  tumbling  snow — then  indeed 
you  can  think  of  wonderful  things  and  say 
wonderful  things  if  you  like.  But  perhaps  you 
may  prefer  to  say  nothing  at  all,  and  that  is  a 


1 68  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

very  good  and  pleasant  way  too,  for  at  such  a 
time  it  seems  really  not  quite  right  to  talk  un- 
less you  can  talk  in  poetry,  and  that  is  not  easy 
to  do,  no  matter  how  much  you  may  feel  like 
doing  it. 

These  people  who  had  made  the  best  of  so 
many  moons  knew  all  this,  but  some  of  the 
others  thought  that  this  moon  was  worthy  of 
a  greater  effort  and  a  more  deep-laid  plan.  All 
the  things  that  are  usually  done  on  moonlight 
nights  were  rejected  one  by  one.  Then  one  of 
those  strange  persons  who  are  always  noticing 
things  said,  not  at  all  as  if  he  thought  it  had 
anything  to  do  with  the  subject,  that  there  was 
an  uncommon  quantity  of  wood  scattered  along 
the  shore.  Then  it  was  decided,  just  because 
nothing  better  could  be  thought  of,  that  there 
should  be  a  bonfire  down  on  the  shore,  and 
nothing  else,  except  the  moon.  So  in  the  fore- 
noon the  daily  bathing  party  started  for  the 
shore  a  little  earlier  than  usual,  and  instead  of 
spending  our  extra  time  in  lying  on  our  backs 
with  the  sun  in  our  eyes,  in  the  hope  of  getting 
sunburned,  we  spent  it  in  gathering  wood  for 
the  fire. 

Picking  up  driftwood  for  a  bonfire  is  not 
very  easy  work,  but  there  were  so  many  of  us 
that  we  soon  had  two  good  piles,  one  for  the 
fire  at  the  start  and  one  to  feed  it  as  it  burned. 
Among  the  wood  there  were  two  whole  barrels. 


The  Love  Potion  169 

and  one  of  them  had  had  tar  in  it,  so  we  were 
sure  of  a  splendid  fire.  Then  we  all  went  home, 
and  after  it  was  dark  we  all  came  back  again. 
The  fire  was  lighted  ;  the  bright-colored  flames 
of  the  driftwood  played  together  and  grew  and 
streamed  up  above  our  heads,  crackled  and 
roared  and  sent  up  torrents  of  black  smoke 
mixed  with  golden  sparks.  For  a  little  while 
nobody  was  tired  of  feeding  it  and  watching  it, 
but  by  and  by  we  let  a  few  attend  to  keeping 
it  up,  while  the  rest  of  us  made  a  very  little 
fire  among  the  stones  and  let  it  quickly  die 
down  to  a  bed  of  red  embers  for  toasting  marsh- 
mallow  drops.  The  man  up  at  the  village  who 
keeps  the  shop  with  everything  in  it,  and  the 
post-office,  must  have  a  notion  that  city  peo- 
ple live  chiefly  on  marshmallow  drops,  that  is, 
if  he  ever  lets  himself  be  troubled  by  any  no- 
tions except  those  he  keeps  to  sell. 

After  that  the  most  of  the  people  strolled 
away  along  the  shore.  Some  said  they  wanted 
to  see  how  the  fire  looked  from  a  distance,  and 
others,  I  think,  were  trying  to  get  nearer  to  the 
moon.  At  last  the  little  girl  and  I  were  left 
alone.  We  made  cushions  of  folded  coats  and 
shawls,  and  sat  leaning  against  a  big  rock,  look- 
ing at  the  fire. 

"  We  scarcely  need  the  fire  to-night,"  I  said  ; 
"  if  we  try  a  little  we  can  see  pictures  through 
it  and  all  around  it,  as  well  as  in  it.  See  that 


170          The  Wagner  Story  Book 

big,  black  rock,  that  stands  almost  in  the  edge 
of  the  water,  like  an  old  castle,  built  upon  the 
shore.  Then  look  away  across  the  water  to  the 
island  over  yonder.  I  see  a  ship  coming  from 
the  island  toward  our  shore;  perhaps  you  do 
not  see  it  yet.  As  it  gets  nearer  I  can  see  a 
knight  standing  in  the  bow.  He  is  a  big,  bold, 
fine-looking  fellow,  and  he  is  all  in  black  armor. 
The  ship  reaches  the  shore  and  the  knight  and 
his  men  go  toward  the  castle,  where  the  King 
lives,  while  the  King  and  all  his  court  come  out 
to  meet  him.  Some  people  may  tell  .you,  or 
you  may  some  time  find  out  for  yourself,  that 
this  King  is  a  very  wicked  man,  mean,  cruel, 
and  treacherous.  Perhaps  he  is,  but  all  I  can 
tell  you  is  that  now  he  does  not  seem  so  to  me ; 
on  the  contrary  he  seems  as  kind  and  generous 
as  you  could  wish. 

"The  knight  in  the  black  armor  marches 
proudly  up  to  him  and  tells  him  that  he  has 
been  sent  by  his  brother,  the  King  of  the  island 
over  there  from  which  he  came,  to  get  the  trib- 
ute which  the  king  here  has  owed  to  him  for 
years,  and  it  must  be  paid,  or  else  the  king  or 
some  one  of  his  knights  must  fight  with  him  to 
see  whether  it  shall  be  paid  or  not.  The  black 
knight  is  such  a  big  man  and  looks  like  such  a 
good  fighter  that  the  men  about  the  King  seem 
to  think  it  would  be  a  pretty  good  thing  to  pay 
the  tribute  and  let  him  go  home  with  it.  Not 


The  Love  Potion  171 

one  of  them  says  a  word  about  wanting  to  fight 
with  him,  for  a  little  while;  but  by  and  by, 
when  all  the  rest  have  had  a  fair  chance,  a 
young  man  comes  forward  and  asks  the  King  if 
he  may  try.  He  is  as  big  a  man  as  the  black 
knight  himself,  and  as  handsome  and  brave 
looking  as  any  you  ever  dreamed  of  seeing,  but 
he  is  so  young  that  he  cannot  have  fought  many 
battles,  and  one  would  think  that  he  would  be 
afraid  to  set  himself  against  the  big  black 
knight,  unless  one  looked  at  his  face,  as  I  do, 
and  saw  that  he  could  not  possibly  be  afraid  of 
anything." 

"  Is  he  braver  than  the  one  that  killed  the 
dragon?"  the  child  asked. 

"  Why,  no,  I  suppose  not ;  nobody  could  be 
braver  than  he,  because,  you  know,  he  could 
not  learn  what  fear  meant,  and  did  not  even 
know  whether  it  was  something  to  feel  or  some- 
thing to  eat  or  something  to  wear,  but  this 
young  knight  is  just  as  brave  as  there  is  any 
need  for  anybody  to  be,  and  when  he  asks  the 
King  to  let  him  try  to  beat  the  black  knight,  all 
the  other  knights  say  at  once, '  By  all  means, 
let  him  try,'  and  they  are  really  quite  eager 
about  it,  and  almost  all  of  them  change  their 
minds  about  giving  the  tribute.  So  the  King 
says  that  he  may  fight  the  battle  if  he  will,  and 
he  puts  on  his  armor,  which  is  all  of  green,  and 
mounts  his  horse. 


172  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

"  The  black  knight  is  on  his  horse  too,  and 
they  ride  far  apart  and  then  face  each  other  and 
hold  their  long  spears  before  them,  ready  for 
the  battle.  All  the  people  stand  far  off  at  the 
sides,  the  heralds  blow  their  trumpets,  and  the 
two  knights  run  together  with  all  the  speed  of 
their  horses.  The  points  of  their  spears  are 
down  and  they  are  both  well  aimed,  but  each 
catches  the  other's  spear  fairly  in  the  middle  of 
his  shield,  and  they  rush  together  so  hard  that 
there  is  a  great  crash,  and  both  the  knights 
and  both  the  horses  fall  to  the  ground  with  a 
terrible  clatter  of  arms.  But  the  knights  are 
both  on  their  feet  again  in  a  moment,  and  are 
falling  upon  each  other  with  their  swords,  cut- 
ting and  slashing  and  warding  and  advancing 
and  retreating,  till  it  is  hard  to  tell  which  is 
the  black  knight  and  which  the  green,  or 
whether  they  are  not  both  black  and  both 
green.  First  one  seems  to  be  getting  a  little 
the  better  of  the  fight  and  then  the  other.  The 
black  knight  is  better  trained,  but  the  green 
knight  is  so  much  younger  and  fresher  that  he 
keeps  his  strength  better,  and  by  and  by  the 
black  knight  sees  that  he  is  surely  gaining  a 
little.  Then  he  rushes  upon  the  green  knight 
and  fights  with  all  his  strength  and  all  his 
skill,  and  at  last  he  gives  him  a  wound  on  the 
shoulder.  Then  the  green  knight  sees  that  if 
he  is  ever  to  do  anything  in  this  fight  he  must 


The  Love  Potion  173 

do  it  now,  and  he  uses  all  his  strength  and  all 
his  skill  too,  and  he  brings  down  such  a  blow 
with  his  sword  on  the  head  of  the  black  knight 
that  it  cuts  through  the  helmet,  and  the  edge  of 
the  sword  is  broken,  and  with  another  clash  and 
clatter  of  arms  the  black  knight  falls  to  the 
ground. 

"  The  black  knight's  men  run  to  him  and  carry 
him  to  his  ship,  and  sail  away  as  quickly  as  they 
can  toward  their  island.  I  can  see  them  all  the 
way,  though  it  is  a  little  dark  out  there,  in  spite 
of  the  moon,  and  I  can  see  everything  they  do 
after  they  get  there ;  I  have  to,  you  know,  or  it 
would  spoil  the  story.  They  carry  him  to  the 
King's  castle,  and  the  Queen  and  her  daughter, 
who  know  all  about  medicines,  and  even  some 
things  that  are  stronger  than  medicines,  dress 
his  wound  and  nurse  him  and  watch  him  day 
and  night.  But  it  is  all  of  no  use  ;  nothing  can 
cure  the  black  knight's  wound,  and  so  he  dies ; 
but  in  dressing  the  wound  the  princess  has 
found  in  it  a  little  piece  of  steel  that  was  broken 
from  the  edge  of  the  green  knight's  sword. 

"  Now  you  ought  to  know,  before  we  go  any 
farther,  that  this  princess  is  probably  altogether 
the  most  beautiful  princess  that  you  ever  heard 
a  story  about." 

"  Oh,  that's  the  way  they  always  are,"  said 
the  little  girl ;  "  is  she  beautifuller  than  the  one 
that  had  the  fire  all  round  her?" 


1/4  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

"  Perhaps  not,  but  she  was  not  a  princess,  you 
know  ;  she  was  a  goddess  till  her  father  kissed 
her,  and  then  she  was  nothing  at  all  till  her  lover 
came  and  kissed  her,  and  after  that  she  was  a 
woman,  which  was  altogether  the  best  thing  she 
could  possibly  be.  But  when  we  first  saw  her 
she  was  a  goddess,  and  we  have  a  right  to  ex- 
pect more  of  her  than  of  a  princess.  So  I  say 
again  that  this  is  quite  the  most  beautiful  prin- 
cess that  you  have  ever  heard  a  story  about, 
and  you  must  believe  it,  if  you  please,  or  I  shall 
not  tell  you  any  more  about  her." 

"  Oh,  I  believe  anything  you  say,"  said  the 
child,  "but  where  is  the  green  knight?" 

"  He  is  still  here  on  the  shore,  in  the  King's 
castle,  and  his  wound  is  a  very  bad  one  too,  and 
after  all  the  doctors  have  tried  to  cure  it  and 
have  failed,  one  of  them  says  that  it  can  never 
be  cured  at  all  except  in  the  country  of  the  black 
knight  who  gave  it  to  him.  Now  it  is  not  very 
safe  for  the  knight  to  go  over  to  that  island, 
where  so  many  people  would  probably  be  glad 
to  kill  him  for  killing  the  black  knight,  so  he 
disguises  himself  as  much  as  he  can  before  he 
goes.  And  he  goes  straight  to  the  King's  castle, 
just  as  the  black  knight  did,  and  the  Queen  and 
the  princess  take  care  of  him  just  as  they  took 
care  of  the  black  knight,  only  this  time  they 
have  better  luck,  and  in  a  little  while  he  gets 
well. 


The  Love  Potion  175 

"  But  long  before  he  gets  well  the  princess, 
who  is  watching  by  his  side,  sees  the  sword  that 
he  brought  lying  near  by,  and  having  nothing 
better  to  do,  she  looks  first  at  the  jewels  in  the 
hilt  and  then  slowly  draws  the  sword  out  of  its 
scabbard  to  let  her  eye  run  along  the  polished 
blade,  with  its  smooth,  sharp  edge.  And  then 
her  eye  quickly  comes  to  a  break  in  the  smooth, 
sharp  edge,  and  in  an  instant  she  thinks  of  the 
splinter  of  a  sword  edge  that  she  found  in  her 
uncle's  wound.  At  that  she  quickly  drops  the 
sword.  Then  she  gets  the  splinter,  which  she 
has  kept,  and  finds  that  it  just  fits  the  broken 
place  in  the  sword,  so  she  knows  that  this  knight 
whom  she  is  nursing  and  curing  of  his  wound  is 
the  one  who  killed  her  uncle  when  he  was  fight- 
ing for  her  father.  For  a  moment  she  thinks 
that  she  will  kill  him,  and  she  lifts  the  sword 
above  him,  but  when  she  sees  the  helpless  look 
in  his  eyes  she  has  not  the  heart  to  do  it,  and 
she  lets  the  sword  fall  again.  If  the  truth  were 
told,  I  think  she  is  already  a  little  in  love  with 
him,  and  if  he  were  any  kind  of  knight  except  a 
green  one,  he  would  be  in  love  with  her  too. 

"  If  he  only  would  fall  in  love  now  it  might 
save  a  good  deal  of  trouble  afterwards,  but  be- 
cause of  his  habit  of  wearing  green  clothes  and 
green  armor,  or  for  some  other  reason,  he  does 
not,  and  when  his  wound  is  quite  cured  he  sails 
cheerfully  away  again,  just  as  if  it  were  an  every- 


Lj6  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

day  affair  to  be  nursed  by  a  queen  and  a  prin- 
cess. He  sails  back  here  to  our  own  shore  now, 
to  the  King's  castle,  and  the  King  and  every- 
body else  are  as  glad  as  possible  to  see  him. 
He  tells  them  all  about  the  Queen  and  the  prin- 
cess, and  how  beautiful  she  is,  for  it  seems  he 
did  notice  that,  till  by  and  by,  when  the  knights 
of  the  court  find  that  he  is  talking  about  her 
only  in  the  way  he  would  talk  about  a  picture 
that  pleased  him,  they  whisper  to  the  King  that 
such  a  princess,  who  is  so  beautiful,  and  knows 
so  much  about  curing  wounds,  would  no  doubt 
make  a  good  queen,  and  they  advise  him  to  send 
for  her  and  marry  her.  The  green  knight  him- 
self hears  these  whispers,  and  he  says, '  Yes,  by 
all  means ;  I  will  go  and  get  her ;  she  will  be  glad 
to  come,  and  her  father  and  mother  will  be  de- 
lighted to  have  her.'  Did  you  ever  hear  of  such 
absurd  conduct  from  a  young  man  dressed  in 
green? 

"  Away  he  sails  again,  over  to  the  island,  and 
when  he  tells  his  errand  the  King  and  the 
Queen  are  delighted  indeed.  The  princess  is 
not  so  much  delighted  as  some  young  women 
might  be  at  the  prospect  of  being  married  to  a 
king,  but  she  pretends  to  be  very  well  pleased 
and  says  that  she  will  go.  This  time  it  is  she 
who  makes  a  sad  mistake,  for  if  she  would  only 
say,  right  out  aloud,  '  I  do  not  want  to  be  mar- 
ried to  this  King ;  I  want  to  be  married  to  the 


The  Love  Potion  177 

green  knight,'  again  it  might  save  a  good  deal 
of  trouble  afterwards.  She  need  not  say  it  to 
him,  but  she  might  say  it  to  her  mother,  and  if 
he  did  not  love  her  the  Queen  would  know 
very  well  how  to  make  him,  as  you  shall  see 
by  and  by.  Still,  if  there  were  no  trouble  there 
would  be  no  story,  so  we  might  better  not 
complain,  as  long  as  the  trouble  will  not  be 
ours.  So  the  princess  sails  away  with  the 
knight,  and  the  Queen,  before  she  goes,  like  a 
careful  mother,  gives  her  a  little  box  of  medi- 
cines such  as  she  uses  herself.  That  is  to  say, 
medicines  and  other  things.  One  of  the  other 
things  is  a  poison  that  kills  anybody  who 
drinks  it,  in  just  about  a  minute,  and  it  looks 
and  tastes  just  like  wine.  Another  is  a  stranger 
mixture  yet,  for  when  a  man  and  a  woman 
drink  it  together  it  makes  them,  from  that  in- 
stant, love  each  other  as  long  as  they  live,  more 
than  they  love  life  or  honor  or  their  country 
or  anything  or  anybody  else  in  the  world. 
And  this,  too,  looks  and  tastes  just  like  wine. 
It  would  not  be  easy  to  find  two  more  danger- 
ous drinks  than  these  together. 

"  I  see  the  knight  and  the  princess  now  on 
board  the  ship,  coming  here  to  our  shore.  The 
knight  stands  near  the  helmsman,  looking  away 
at  the  sea  and  the  sky,  and  thinking  of  nothing 
more  sensible  than  how  glad  his  King  will  be 
when  he  sees  his  bride,  and  how  much  his  King 


178  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

will  thank  him  for  finding  for  him  and  bringing 
to  him  such  a  lovely  princess.  But  the  prin- 
cess, who  is  sitting  far  away  from  him,  at  the 
other  end  of  the  ship,  is  thinking  a  great  deal, 
and  of  such  bitter  things  that  she  does  not  look 
at  the  beautiful  sea  and  sky  at  all.  The  end  of 
half  her  thoughts  is  that  in  a  very  little  while 
now  she  will  have  to  be  the  wife  of  a  king 
whom  she  has  never  seen  and  never  wants  to 
see,  because  she  loves  the  green  knight,  and  the 
end  of  the  other  half  of  her  thoughts  is  that  she 
hates  the  knight  who  has  brought  her  to  this, 
as  she  could  never  in  the  world  hate  anybody 
except  one  whom  she  loved. 

"  And  this  is  how  her  thoughts  come,  foe 
you  know  I  can  see  thoughts  just  as  plainly  a\ 
I  can  see  castles  and  ships  and  battles :  she 
thinks  of  her  uncle,  whom  she  loved,  who 
fought  for  her  father  and  for  her  country,  who 
was  wounded,  and  whose  life  she  could  not 
save;  she  thinks  of  the  unknown  knight  who 
came  to  her,  •  wounded  too,  whom  she  nursed 
and  did  save ;  she  thinks  how  she  began  to  love 
him,  for  the  most  of  us  love  better  those  whom 
we  help  than  those  who  help  us ;  she  thinks  of 
that  time  when  she  saw  his  sword  and  knew 
that  it  was  he  who  had  killed  her  uncle,  how 
her  anger  rose  against  him  for  that  and  because 
he  had  dared  to  come  to  her  for  help,  how  she 
had  been  about  to  kill  him,  and  how  she  saw 


The  Love  Potion  179 

that  helpless  look  in  his  eyes  and  had  not  the 
heart  to  do  it.  It  is  now  that  her  thoughts 
grow  bitter,  for  she  thinks  how  he  went  away 
again  and  never  dreamed  of  loving  her  for 
healing  his  wound  and  saving  his  life,  and  then 
sparing  his  life  and  loving  him,  when  she  ought 
to  hate  him  and  kill  him,  because  he  killed  her 
uncle.  She  is  beautiful  enough  to  be  loved, 
she  thinks.  Then  comes  a  maddening  thought 
of  how  this  man  whom  she  loved  not  only 
cared  no  more  for  her  than  for  one  of  her 
father's  dogs,  but  himself  came  back  to  ask  her 
hand  for  another.  This  seems  an  insult  to  her 
and  it  makes  her  whole  soul  burn.  She  wishes 
she  had  killed  him  when  she  had  his  sword  in 
her  hands,  and  the  madness  fills  her  mind  and 
burns  her  soul  till  she  resolves  that  she  will 
kill  him  now. 

"  She  not  only  thinks  all  this  but  says  it  to 
her  maid,  and  she  orders  her  to  take  the  poison 
out  of  the  box  of  medicines  that  her  mother 
gave  her,  and  put  it  into  a  goblet,  and  she  says 
that  the  knight  shall  drink  some  of  it  and  that 
she  will  drink  the  rest  herself,  and  so  punish 
her  enemy  and  be  rid  of  the  King  who  is  to  be 
her  husband,  for  she  will  gladly  die  rather  than 
be  married  to  him.  Of  course  this  throws  the 
poor  maid  into  a  terrible  fright,  for  she  is  not  a 
princess,  and  poisoning  and  cutting  off  heads, 
and  such  things  seem  like  serious  matters  to 


i8o  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

her,  so  she  would  gladly  save  the  knight  and 
her  mistress  too,  if  she  could.  If  you  were  in 
her  place  I  know  very  well  what  you  would 
do.  You  would  give  the  princess  some  wine 
instead  of  the  poison,  and  before  she  could  find 
out  what  you  had  done,  she  and  the  knight 
would  be  on  shore  and  would  be  saved.  But 
this  poor  girl  is  so  frightened  that  she  can 
think  of  nothing  to  do  but  to  give  her  mistress 
and  the  knight  the  love  drink  instead  of  the 
poison. 

"  The  princess  calls  the  knight  to  her  and 
frowns  upon  him  as  dreadfully  as  she  knows 
how.  Can  you  think  how  a  bunch  of  sweet, 
fresh,  red  and  white  roses  would  look  if  it 
should  get  terribly  angry  ?  Well,  that  is  about 
the  way  the  princess  frowns.  But  it  is  not  her 
fault.  She  was  not  made  to  frown.  She  tells 
the  knight  that  he  has  been  very  cruel  and 
very  untrue  to  her,  and  that  she  ought  to  have 
killed  him  for  killing  her  uncle ;  but  now  she 
says  she  will  forgive  him,  and  to  show  that 
they  are  friends  she  asks  him  to  drink  this  wine 
with  her.  And  now  you  may  see  how  brave 
this  green  knight  really  is,  for  he  sees  well 
enough  that  she  does  not  forgive  him  at  all 
and  means  to  kill  him  ;  yet  he  takes  the  goblet 
from  her  hand  without  a  tremor  of  his  own  and 
drinks.  Then  she  snatches  the  goblet  from 
him  and  drinks  the  rest  herself,  and  cries, 


The  Love  Potion  181 

'  Now  we  shall  both  die ;  I  have  my  revenge 
upon  you,  and  you  shall  not  marry  me  to  your 
King  ! ' 

"  But,  oh,  it  is  the  drink  of  love,  and  instead 
of  dying  the  two  stand  and  gaze  at  each  other 
as  if  they  could  never  gaze  enough,  then  they 
stretch  their  arms  toward  each  other,  and  so 
they  meet,  and  now,  whatever  happens  to  either 
of  them,  they  must  always  love  each  other  as 
long  as  they  live,  more  than  they  love  life  or 
honor  or  their  country  or  anything  or  any- 
body else  in  the  world. 

"  How  they  ever  get  on  shore  I  don't  know, 
but  I  do  know  that  when  they  are  there  they 
make  another  great  mistake,  for  they  hide  from 
the  King  that  they  love  each  other,  and  they 
let  him  think  still  that  the  princess  means  to  be 
married  to  him,  when  I  am  sure  she  can  mean 
nothing  of  the  kind.  He  is  a  very  good  sort 
of  King,  who  wants  everybody  to  be  as  happy 
as  possible,  and  he  never  has  seen  this  princess 
before,  so  what  can  he  really  care  for  her?  If 
they  would  only  tell  him  I  am  sure  he  would 
be  glad  to  help  them,  instead  of  standing  in 
their  way,  but  they  are  just  as  foolish  as  they 
have  both  been  all  along,  and  they  say  nothing 
about  it. 

"  The  princess  is  in  the  garden  of  the  castle 
with  her  maid  and  they  are  waiting  for  the 
knight  to  come.  The  King  and  all  his  men 


1 82  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

have  ridden  a-hunting.  It  is  night,  and  a  torch 
burns  at  the  castle  door;  at  last  we  can  see 
something  in  the  fire.  The  knight  will  not 
come  till  they  put  out  the  torch,  for  that  is  the 
signal  they  have  arranged,  and  they  will  not 
put  out  the  torch  till  the  hunting  party  is  far 
away.  You  see  they  are  still  so  absurdly  secret 
about  it !  The  maid  tells  the  princess  that  she 
might  better  not  put  out  the  torch  at  all,  for  a 
treacherous  friend  of  the  knight  has  watched 
them,  suspects  their  love,  and  has  told  the 
King  ;  that  the  hunting  party  is  only  a  trap, 
and  that  the  King  will  soon  come  back.  If  it 
were  a  real  hunt  it  would  be  strange  for  the 
green  knight  himself  not  to  go,  for  he  is  the 
best  huntsman  in  the  whole  country.  All  this 
is  quite  true  ;  for  the  King,  kind  and  generous 
as  he  is,  does  not  like  to  be  deceived  any  better 
than  anybody  else,  and  he  wants  people  to  keep 
the  promises  that  they  make  to  him. 

"  But  the  princess  is  in  such  haste  to  see  the 
green  knight  again  that  she  will  not  heed  the 
maid's  warning.  She  sends  her  up  to  the  tower 
to  watch,  as  soon  as  she  thinks  the  hunters  are 
far  enough  away,  and  then  she  throws  the 
torch  down  upon  the  ground  and  puts  it  out. 
Then  the  green  knight  comes.  But  they  have 
scarcely  sat  down  on  the  grassy  bank  to  tell 
each  other  how  much  they  love  each  other,  and 
to  forget  all  about  the  poor  King,  when  the 


"AS    IF  THEY    COULD    NEVER    GAZE    ENOUGH. 


The  Love  Potion  183 

maid  cries  out  from  the  tower  that  the  hunts- 
men are  coming  back,  the  knight's  old  servant 
comes  running  with  his  sword  drawn  to  his 
master  and  begs  him  to  save  himself,  and  in  a 
minute  they  all  come,  the  treacherous  friend  of 
the  green  knight  leading  the  way,  and  the  King 
next  after  him.  The  knight  is  standing  before 
the  princess,  not  thinking  of  himself,  and  the 
traitor,  who  could  never  match  him  for  a  mo- 
ment in  a  fair  fight,  rushes  upon  him  and 
wounds  him,  but  before  he  can  do  more  the 
King  himself  holds  him  back.  The  old  servant 
raises  the  knight  from  the  ground  where  he 
has  fallen,  drags  him  quickly  to  the  shore  and 
puts  him  in  a  ship  that  is  there,  and  once  more 
they  sail  away. 

"  The  rock  there  by  the  water  is  no  longer 
the  castle  of  the  King.  It  is  the  green  knight's 
castle  now,  in  another  country,  across  the  sea. 
The  old  servant  has  brought  the  knight  here, 
away  from  his  enemies,  to  try  to  heal  his 
wound.  All  his  care  seems  useless.  The  poor 
knight  has  all  the  time  grown  worse.  But  his 
faithful  old  servant  has  remembered  who  it  was 
that  cured  another  wound  of  his  before,  and  he 
has  sent  a  ship  with  secret  messengers  to  bring 
the  princess  if  they  can.  That  he  may  know  as 
soon  as  he  sees  the  ship  whether  the  princess  is 
on  board,  he  has  told  the  sailors  to  hoist  white 
sails  if  they  bring  her  with  them,  and  black 


184  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

sails  if  they  do  not.     He  is  watching  now  for 
the  ship  to  come  back. 

"  It  is  the  court-yard  of  the  castle  that  I  see, 
and  a  sweet,  calm,  lovely  picture  it  is.  The 
knight  and  his  servant  have  been  so  long  away 
that  the  place  has  been  neglected,  but  it  is  all 
the  prettier  for  that.  The  grass  has  grown 
long,  and,  as  the  light  winds  breathe  upon  it,  it 
sways  and  sinks  and  rises  in  waves,  as  if  it 
tried  to  be  like  the  sea  down  there  below  it. 
The  gray  old  walls  and  ramparts  of  the  castle 
have  bright  green  moss  upon  them,  and  from 
the  crannies  hang  little  plants  and  vines.  High 
up,  where  a  rough  stone  projects  a  little  from 
the  tower,  a  cluster  of  bluebells  swings  in  the 
breeze  and  nods  to  the  other  flowers  and  the 
grass  and  the  trees  down  below.  Are  the  blue- 
bells trying  to  say  to  the  grass  that  up  there 
on  their  airy  lookout  they  can  see  away  over 
the  shining  water,  that  the  ship  is  not  yet  in 
sight,  but  that  they  know  she  will  come  ?  Be- 
yond and  away,  clear  to  the  edge  of  the  sky, 
just  as  it  is  here  before  us  now,  lies  the  sea. 
Smooth  and  peaceful  it  is,  as  if  it  were  resting 
all  through  this  calm  day.  Over  it  all  the  sun 
is  sending  a  flood  of  light,  fifty  times  as  bright 
as  the  light  of  this  splendid  moon  of  ours. 
But  now  and  then  it  is  dimmed  a  little,  for  far 
away  on  the  sea  lies  a  strip  of  shade,  the  shadow 
of  a  cloud  ;  slowly  it  moves  toward  the  land,  as 


The  Love  Potion  185 

the  cloud  sails  through  the  blue  sky,  and  as  it 
comes  it  is  seen  plainer  and  moves  faster,  till 
the  shadow  reaches  the  shore  and  rests  for  an 
instant  on  the  castle  and  the  court-yard,  and 
then  it  passes  away  into  the  land  and  every- 
thing is  sunny  again. 

"  Yet  in  all  this  light  and  peaceful  beauty 
there  is  something  that  seems  like  sadness.  In 
the  court-yard,  on  his  couch,  lies  the  knight,  in 
the  cool  shade.  He  does  not  know  where  he 
is,  and  he  does  not  know  his  servant,  who  stands 
beside  him,  with  the  tears  in  his  faithful  old 
eyes,  but  he  must  know  that  he  is  in  a  beauti- 
ful place.  Does  everything  in  the  place  know 
that  he  is  here,  too,  and  feel  sad  to  see  him  ly- 
ing sick  and  wounded  and  weak  and  weary  ? 
The  sun  veils  his  face  oftener  than  he  does  on 
some  of  our  bright  days,  and  when  there  is  no 
cloud  he  shines  with  a  soft,  mellow  light,  the 
sea  throws  shades  of  purple  over  its  blue  and 
silver,  and  its  waves  break  against  the  shore  with 
only  a  soft  little  sound,  and  a  sort  of  hushed 
song  that  is  like  a  moan  and  is  like  a  lullaby 
too.  You  can  hear  it  down  there  among  the 
pebbles  around  the  rock.  The  bluebells  swing 
softly,  as  if  they  were  afraid  to  ring  out  aloud 
and  disturb  the  sleeping  knight.  The  hard 
walls  look  softer  for  their  coverings  of  moss  ; 
the  grass  waves  slowly  and  bends  toward  the 
wounded  man,  seeming  to  listen  to  his  breath- 


1 86  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

ing.  A  shepherd  leans  over  the  rampart  and 
plays  a  soft,  sad,  sleepy  little  air  on  his  pipe. 
*  Is  the  knight  awake  ?  '  he  calls  to  the  servant. 

" '  No,'  the  servant  answers,  '  and  unless  the 
princess  comes  I  fear  he  will  never  wake  ;  watch 
for  the  ship.' 

" '  I  will  watch,'  the  shepherd  says,  '  and  if  I 
see  the  ship  I  will  play  a  lively  tune  on  my  pipe 
to  tell  you  of  it.' 

"The  knight  begins  to  wake  and  stir;  he 
asks  where  he  is,  and  the  servant  tells  him  that 
he  is  at  his  own  castle.  He  has  been  dreaming 
of  the  princess,  and  the  servant  says,  '  I  have 
sent  the  ship  for  her ;  she  will  come  to-day.' 
But  the  knight  is  so  weak  that  he  cannot  under- 
stand or  talk  of  one  thing  very  long,  and  he  falls 
half  asleep  again  and  dreams  of  the  princess, 
and  because  he  has  heard  of  a  ship  he  dreams 
of  other  ships.  He  has  his  old  wound  now  and 
is  lying,  just  as  he  lies  here,  in  that  ship  which 
bore  him  the  first  time  toward  the  princess; 
now  she  is  with  him  and  his  face  grows  lighter. 
She  is  looking  at  his  sword  ;  she  raises  it  again, 
as  she  did  so  long  ago,  to  kill  him ;  but  she 
sees  again  the  helpless  look  in  his  eyes  and  has 
not  the  heart  to  do  it,  and  she  lets  the  sword 
fall  again.  He  is  on  a  second  ship,  sailing 
toward  the  princess  to  bring  her  for  the  King's 
bride  ;  now  the  ship  is  sailing  back  and  they 
are  together  on  the  deck.  She  holds  out  to 


The  Love  Potion  187 

him  that  goblet  of  strange  wine ;  they  both 
drink,  they  gaze  into  each  other's  eyes,  the 
dream  is  too  happy  to  last,  and  he  awakes  and 
cries,  '  Has  the  ship  come  ?  Can  you  not  see 
her  yet?' 

"  '  Not  yet,'  the  servant  answers  ;  '  but  she 
must  come  soon.' 

"  The  knight  is  in  the  garden  of  the  castle — 
the  other  castle — waiting  for  the  princess  to 
put  out  the  torch,  that  he  may  come  to  her. 
The  torch  falls  upon  the  ground,  he  runs  to- 
ward the  place,  and  they  are  together  yet  again. 
It  is  another  happy  dream  that  cannot  stay. 
'  Is  the  ship  nowhere  in  sight  ? ' 

"  Before  the  servant  can  answer  he  hears  the 
merry  tune  from  the  shepherd's  pipe  and  knows 
that  the  ship  is  coming  now,  indeed.  He  looks 
away  across  the  sea  and  tells  his  master  how 
swiftly  it  flies  over  the  water  toward  them,  with 
its  white  sails,  for  the  sails  are  white  and  the 
princess  is  on  board.  The  time  seems  long  to 
the  knight  and  his  servant,  yet  it  is  really  short, 
for  the  wind  is  fair.  The  ship  comes  nearer  and 
nearer,  it  passes  the  dangerous  reef,  it  is  so  near 
that  the  servant  can  see  the  faces  of  the  princess 
and  the  helmsman  and  the  sailors.  Now  it  is  at 
the  very  shore  and  the  princess  is  at  the  gate. 
Ah,  it  was  not  medicines  that  the  knight  needed. 
With  the  very  knowledge  that  the  princess  is 
there,  he  raises  himself  from  his  couch  and  walks 


1 88  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

toward  the  gate.  Then  his  little  strength  fails 
again  and  he  would  fall,  but  the  princess  herself 
catches  him  in  her  arms  and  holds  him.  This 
time  it  is  no  dream. 

"  She  leads  him  back  to  the  couch,  he  sinks 
upon  it,  and  she  bends  over  him.  But  suddenly 
the  shepherd  runs  to  the  rampart  and  cries  that 
another  ship  is  coming,  the  King's  ship.  Are 
the  King's  men  coming  then  to  carry  back  the 
princess,  perhaps  to  kill  the  knight?  The  ser- 
vant calls  the  men  of  the  castle  and  they  try  to 
barricade  and  guard  the  gate.  But  they  are 
too  late ;  the  King's  men  and  the  King  himself 
break  through  the  barriers  and  are  in  the  court- 
yard. The  very  first  of  them  is  the  knight's 
treacherous  friend;  the  old  servant  instantly 
cuts  him  down  with  his  sword,  and  there  is  one 
good  stroke  at  least.  Then  the  King  calls  to  all 
to  hold  their  hands  and  to  strike  no  more ;  he 
has  come  only  to  give  the  princess  to  the  knight. 
He  has  heard  of  the  love  drink,  and  knows  at 
last  that  they  were  not  to  blame  for  what  they 
did,  and  that  they  never  meant  to  be  false  to 
him. 

"  But  still  the  knight  lies  there  on  his  couch 
and  the  princess  kneels  by  his  side  and  bends 
over  him,  and  neither  of  them  speaks  or  moves." 

"  And  will  the  knight  get  well  again  ? "  the 
little  girl  asked. 

"  Let  us  not  try  to  find  out  any  more  now,"  I 


The  Love  Potion  189 

said.  "  The  knight  and  the  princess  are  both 
here,  and  I  know  that  they  are  happier  together 
than  they  have  ever  been  before.  That  is 
enough,  is  it  not  ?  " 

All  at  once  there  were  voices  behind  us,  three 
voices  at  least. 

"  Hello,  there !  who's  attending  to  the  fire  ? 
You're  letting  it  all  go  out,  and  there's  plenty 
of  wood  left." 

"  What  are  you  two  doing  here  all  alone  ? 
Don't  you  know  you'll  catch  your  death  o'  cold 
sitting  here  so  long  ?  " 

"  Are  there  any  marshmallows  left  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  the  little  girl,  answering  the  last 
question,  "we  don't  care  about  marshmaliows 
any  way,"  and  I  really  believe  just  then  she 
thought  she  did  not  care  about  them,  though 
usually  she  likes  them  almost  as  well  as  any- 
body. 


THE   MINSTREL    KNIGHT 


THE   MINSTREL  KNIGHT 

THE  little  girl  stayed  at  the  seashore  till  the 
middle  of  the  autumn.  That  is  the  way  sensible 
people  do,  when  they  can,  and  I  have  worked 
much  in  vain  if  I  have  not  shown  by  this  time 
that  this  little  girl  is  a  sensible  little  perscn. 
The  spring  is  very  lovely,  to  be  sure,  and  of 
course  we  all  love  it.  I  should  be  the  last  one 
to  say  anything  against  it.  But  to  me  the  most 
beautiful  time  of  the  whole  beautiful  year  is  the 
early  autumn.  The  heat  and  the  work  and  the 
worry  of  the  year  are  over,  and  the  clear,  rich, 
golden  good  of  it  all  is  left  to  be  enjoyed.  The 
flowers  are  not  pink  and  pale  blue  any  more ; 
they  are  of  deep,  splendid  yellow  and  red  and 
purple.  The  golden-rod  and  the  asters  are  lords 
of  flowers,  and  the  cardinal  is  their  high-priest, 
while  if  you  will  have  something  that  is  deli- 
cate and  modest,  there  is  the  fringed  gentian, 
and  that  shows,  too,  how  healthy  and  brave  and 
free  it  is  by  keeping  no  company  with  dark 
shadows,  and  opening  only  when  the  bright  sun 
shines  full  upon  it. 

But  of  the  things  that  are  best  in  the  autumn, 
13 


194  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

the  best  above  all  others  is  the  sea.  It  has  been 
lying  quiet  and  restful  all  summer,  and  now  it 
awakes  and  begins  to  move  and  to  show  the 
strength  and  the  freedom  of  its  glorious  life. 
As  you  stand  upon  the  shore  and  look  at  it,  it 
draws  itself  away  from  you  and  away  from  the 
land  as  if  it  were  done  with  it  forever ;  then  it 
pauses,  and  in  a  moment  begins  to  come  back. 
Up  and  up  the  beach  it  marches  with  a  majestic 
will  that  nothing  else  in  the  world  is  like  ;  as  it 
comes  it  lifts  itself  higher  and  higher  ;  then  the 
wave  leaps  into  the  air  and  its  crest  is  turned  to 
emerald  as  the  sunlight  strikes  through  it  for  the 
pause  of  another  instant,  there  is  a  roll,  a  mad 
plunge,  the  spray  dashes  high  above  your  head, 
the  foam  floats  and  flies  up  the  beach  to  your 
very  feet,  the  hollow  rumble  of  the  water  sounds 
fainter  and  farther  along  the  sands,  and  the 
ocean  draws  itself  back  away  from  you  and 
away  from  the  land.  Its  colors  are  different, 
too.  Before  it  had  all  sorts  of  fanciful  hues 
and  shades,  pale  green  and  blue,  silver,  violet, 
almost  rose  sometimes,  the  colors  of  summer 
dreams.  Now  the  dreaming  time  is  over.  The 
green  of  the  wave-crests  is  luminous,  the  white 
and  the  blue  have  the  gleam  of  polished  steel, 
the  violet  and  the  rose  are  turned  to  deep,  rich 
purple.  The  sea  is  not  cold,  harsh,  and  cruel 
yet,  but  it  is  free,  bold,  and  majestic. 

All  this   I   knew  because  I  remembered  it, 


The  Minstrel  Knight  195 

not  because  I  saw  it,  for  I  had  been  back  in  the 
city  a  long  time.  The  fire  was  lighted  again 
and  I  had  sat  before  it  often,  thinking  of  the 
driftwood  fire  away  down  there,  with  the  little 
girl  sitting  before  it,  seeing  pictures  in  it  for 
herself,  perhaps,  and  listening  to  the  low  sound 
of  the  sea,  coming  up  through  the  still  evening 
air.  But  one  night  she  came  and  sat  with  me 
again,  and  once  more  we  both  looked  into  the 
same  fire.  "  I  believe  I  can  almost  see  pictures 
myself  now,"  she  said. 

"  Can  you  ?  And  what  do  you  see  in  the  fire 
now  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  can  see  a  prince  and  a  princess — and 
a  knight — and  a  lovely  goddess,  like  the  one 
that  had  the  apples — and  a  cave,  like  the  one 
where  the  dragon  lived " 

"  And  don't  you  see  the  dragon  himself  ? 
Where  is  he  ?  " 

"  No,  there  isn't  any  dragon ;  that  would  be 
too  much  like  the  other  story." 

"  But  you  must  not  mind  that.  There  are 
only  a  few  good  stories  altogether,  and  the 
most  we  can  do,  as  I  told  you  once  before,  is 
to  tell  them  over  and  over  again  in  different 
ways." 

"  But  I  don't  want  any  dragon  in  this  one. 
Now  you  tell  me  what  they  all  do,  the  goddess 
and  the  knight,  and  the  prince  and  the  princess, 
and  what  the  cave  is  for." 


196  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

"Very  well,  1  will  try.  First  I  see  the 
knight.  He  is  riding  along  upon  his  horse, 
through  the  forests,  over  the  hills  and  across 
the  valleys.  It  is  a  lovely  day  of  summer. 
When  he  comes  to  the  top  of  a  hill,  he  sees  the 
country  lying  before  him  and  all  around  him, 
deep  green  with  woods  and  pastures  and  paler 
green  where  the  grain  is  ripening.  Here  and 
there,  too,  it  is  sprinkled  with  tiny  dots  of  red, 
where  the  poppies  grow  thick  in  a  field,  and 
there  are  spots  that  are  almost  blue  with  corn- 
flowers. A  silver  ribbon  of  a  river  winds 
through  it,  and  the  sight  of  it  is  lost  among  the 
blue  mountains.  As  he  rides  down  into  a 
valley  the  branches  wave  above  him  and  break 
the  sunshine  that  falls  upon  the  road  and  the 
grass  beside  it.  The  flecks  of  light  and  the 
patches  of  shade  tremble  and  waver  and  dart 
across  and  across  the  way,  as  if  they  were 
weaving  a  robe  for  the  earth,  of  gold  and 
brown  and  green.  The  air  is  full  of  the  smell 
of  the  flowers,  a  brook  makes  a  soft,  cheery 
little  noise,  and  from  the  pastures  comes  the 
sleepy  sound  of  sheep-bells. 

"  The  knight  is  riding  toward  the  castle  of 
the  prince.  He  is  a  minstrel,  as  well  as  a 
knight,  and  at  the  castle  he  will  meet  other  min- 
strels who  are  his  friends,  and  they  are  all  to 
sing  for  a  prize  which  the  prince  has  offered. 
There  is  as  much  happiness  in  the  heart  of  the 


The  Minstrel  Knight  197 

knight  as  in  everything  around  him,  for  he 
loves  the  prince's  daughter,  and  he  knows  that 
she  loves  him.  Besides  this  she  is  to  give  the 
prize  to  the  one  who  wins  it,  and  with  his  mind 
full  of  gladness  and  thoughts  of  her,  he  feels 
sure  that  he  can  win. 

"  As  he  rides  thus  the  evening  falls.  The 
moon  comes  up,  and  from  the  hills  the  country 
stretches  darkly  away  all  around,  with  the  sil- 
ver ribbon  of  the  river  still  winding  through  it. 
The  shade  is  so  deep  in  the  valleys  that  he  has 
to  ride  through  them  slowly.  The  robe  of  the 
earth  now  is  all  of  deep  gray  and  silver.  The 
smell  of  the  flowers  is  stronger  and  sweeter 
than  before,  the  brooks  sound  louder,  and  the 
sheep-bells  are  silent.  The  knight's  thoughts 
just  now  are  wandering  away  from  the  prin- 
cess, and  he  is  thinking  of  the  fame  that  he 
hopes  to  win  as  a  minstrel,  how  he  will  gain 
this  prize  and  many  other  prizes,  how  kings 
will  send  for  him  to  come  to  their  courts,  that 
they  may  hear  his  songs,  how  he  will  grow 
great  and  rich,  and  how  his  name  will  live  on 
after  he  is  dead. 

"As  he  thinks  of  these  things,  suddenly  he 
sees  a  strange  form  before  him  in  the  valley.  It 
is  like  a  woman,  wonderfully  beautiful,  marvel- 
lously, magically  beautiful.  Something  more 
than  the  moonlight  seems  to  rest  upon  her  and 
to  show  him  her  face  with  its  deep  eyes  and 


198  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

soft  cheeks,  her  movements,  so  graceful  and 
gentle  that  it  seems  as  if  she  did  not  move  her- 
self  at  all,  but  were  just  stirred  and  swayed  by 
the  little  breezes.  A  rosy  light  shines  from  her 
face  and  around  her  dark  hair.  All  about  her 
are  nymphs,  or  fairies,  dancing  and  gliding  and 
scattering  roses  for  her  to  walk  upon.  It  seems 
really  quite  needless  to  do  that,  for  she  appears 
rather  to  float  and  move  in  the  air  and  to  rest 
on  the  flower-perfumed  wind  than  to  stand  or 
walk  upon  the  ground.  Now  a  knight  who  was 
also  a  minstrel  could  not  possibly  make  any 
mistake  about  such  a  person  as  this,  and  he 
knows  at  once  that  she  is  the  very  Goddess  of 
Love  and  Beauty." 

"Is  she  the  one  that  had  the  apples?"  the 
little  girl  asked. 

"  No,  not  quite  the  same.  She  is  one  some- 
thing like  her,  yet  a  good  deal  different." 

"  Is  she  Venus  then  ?  " 

"  Yes,  you  have  guessed  just  right,  and  so  at 
last  somebody  in  our  story  has  a  name.  But 
she  is  not  altogether  like  the  Venus  that  you 
have  heard  about  so  many  times  before.  Some 
people  used  to  believe  that  after  the  old  gods 
whom  you  know  so  well  had  lost  their  rule  on 
Mount  Olympus,  they  went  to  live  inside  the 
mountains  and  under  the  ground,  and  that  they 
were  not  kind  to  men  any  more,  but  always 
did  harm,  whenever  they  were  able  to  do  any. 


The  Minstrel  Knight  199 

thing.  Now,  for  myself,  I  don't  quite  see  how 
this  could  be,  because  you  know  we  have  felt 
so  sure  that  we  saw  some  of  them  up  in  the 
sky  sometimes.  Yet  now  that  I  see  Venus 
here,  it  does  seem  to  me  as  if  there  were  some- 
thing in  the  story  after  all,  and  I  believe  it 
would  be  better  for  the  knight  if  he  had  never 
seen  her  at  all.  If  he  were  thinking  of  the 
princess  at  the  time  I  do  not  believe  he  would 
look  twice  at  Venus.  No,  I  am  sure  he  would 
not  even  see  her  once. 

"  But  since  he  is  not  thinking  of  the  princess, 
but  only  of  what  a  great  man  he  would  be  if 
he  could  make  his  songs  seem  as  wonderful  to 
everybody  else  as  they  seem  to  himself,  it  is  not 
surprising  that  he  is  delighted  by  such  a  vision, 
and  it  is  not  surprising,  either,  when  the  god- 
dess and  her  nymphs  beckon  to  him  and  then 
glide  away  as  if  they  wanted  him  to  follow  them, 
that  he  gets  off  his  horse  and  does  follow  them. 
They  move  along  so  fast  that  he  cannot  keep  up 
with  them,  and  soon  he  cannot  even  see  them, 
but  it  is  still  easy  for  him  to  follow.  For  every- 
where they  go  the  strangest  flowers  spring  up 
under  their  feet  and  make  a  pathway  to  lead 
him.  They  are  huge,  bright  flowers,  cup-shaped 
and  star-shaped  and  sun-shaped.  Flowers  of 
such  wonderful  form  and  size,  and  such  gorgeous 
colors  the  knight  never  saw  before.  Some  of 
them  seem  to  be  made  of  hammered  gold,  and 


200  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

some  of  silver ;  some  have  stamens  of  precious 
stones,  and  some  look  like  clear  crystal,  blood- 
red,  deep  purple,  or  orange,  as  if  they  were  cut 
from  solid  gems ;  some  of  them  have  petals  like 
flames,  that  shimmer  and  glow  and  are  reflect- 
ed by  the  others ;  the  leaves  are  all  glistening 
emerald  and  they  are  sprinkled  with  pearls  like 
drops  of  evening  dew.  The  stems  twine  about 
like  serpents,  and  they  seem  to  the  knight  to 
move  and  turn  about  to  show  him  all  their  magic 
splendor.  Some  of  them,  with  coiling  tendrils, 
like  gold  wire,  sway  toward  him  as  if  they  would 
catch  him  and  hold  him,  others  dance  and  wave 
about  on  their  stems  and  twinkle  as  the  other 
stars  do,  up  above  the  trees,  as  if  they  were 
laughing  and  mocking  at  him,  and  still  others 
bow  and  bend  away  from  him  and  beckon  him 
on.  The  whole  of  the  fire  is  scarcely  enough  to 
show  me  this  strange  garden.  A  pale,  ghostly 
light  rises  from  all  the  flowers  and  hovers  over 
the  path.  The  knight  would  stop  to  pick  some 
of  them,  but  those  before  him  seem  always  more 
beautiful  than  those  close  at  hand,  and,  besides, 
he  is  eager  to  follow  the  goddess.  So  on  he 
hurries  till  he  sees  before  him  a  way  straight 
into  the  side  of  the  mountain  and  within  a  great 
glare  of  light.  If  he  would  only  think  of  the 
princess  now,  for  one  instant!  But  he  goes 
straight  on  into  the  mountain,  and  the  way  shuts 
behind  him,  and  outside  the  magic  flowers  are 


THE    STRANGEST    FLOWERS    SPRING    UP    UNDER   THE  R    FEET" 


The  Minstrel  Knight  201 

gone,  and  there  is  nothing  but  the  soft  grass, 
the  whispering  trees,  the  dark  sky,  with  the 
stars,  and  the  calm  night. 

"  Do  you  see  how  very  wrong  it  is  for  the 
knight  to  go  away  after  the  goddess  into  the 
mountain  ?  When  people  let  themselves  be  led 
away  like  that  by  fairies  and  goddesses  it  is 
usually  a  long  time  before  they  get  back.  A 
knight  like  this  one,  who  is  a  minstrel  as  well, 
ought  to  know  all  about  such  things,  and  I  dare 
say  he  does.  He  must  have  heard  of  men  who 
went  to  such  places  and  saw  beautiful  and  won- 
derful sights,  and  feasted  and  danced  till  they 
thought  that  they  had  been  away  from  their 
homes  for  a  day,  or  a  week,  and  then,  when  they 
went  back  to  them,  found  that  they  had  really 
been  gone  for  years,  perhaps  for  hundreds  of 
years,  and  that  all  their  friends  were  dead.  He 
ought  to  think  of  his  friends,  the  other  knights 
and  minstrels,  who  will  be  grieved  when  they 
meet  and  he  is  not  with  them.  For  his  own 
sake  he  ought  to  know  better  than  to  run  into 
strange  and  dangerous  places  just  because  they 
look  pleasant.  More  than  all,  he  ought  to  think 
of  the  princess.  If  he  does  not  care  for  the  prize 
of  his  song  any  more  for  itself  he  should  care 
for  her  who  is  to  give  it.  He  should  remember 
how  much  she  loves  him,  little  as  he  deserves  it. 
She  will  not  forget  him  as  he  does  her.  When 
she  waits  and  waits  for  him  and  he  does  not 


202  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

come  she  will  believe  that  he  is  dead,  and  she 
will  cry  her  pretty  eyes  out.  She  will  never 
think  that  he  has  gone  away  from  her  to  visit 
a  goddess  of  love  and  beauty  who  lives  in  a 
cave. 

"  Now  I  see  the  cave  of  the  goddess,  deep  in 
the  mountain.  It  seems  dim  and  misty  and  con- 
fused at  first,  but  gradually  I  can  see  it  clearer. 
All  around  the  sides  and  the  top  are  great  pen- 
dants of  gems,  like  icicles,  of  all  sorts  of  colors, 
as  if  the  precious  stones  had  once  been  liquid 
and  had  run  down  into  the  cave  and  then  had 
frozen  into  crystal.  Here  and  there  are  dia- 
monds and  rubies  and  opals  and  emeralds  as  big 
as  your  head,  set  in  the  roof,  and  they  have  some 
magical  way  of  shining  all  by  themselves  and 
light  up  the  whole  cave  like  lamps.  The  ground 
is  covered  with  flowers  like  those  that  made  the 
path  to  lead  the  knight  to  the  place.  A  stream 
of  water  runs  from  the  cave  and  is  fed  by  foun- 
tains in  the  middle.  These  fountains  are  won- 
derful affairs  too.  Sometimes  they  throw  jets 
of  liquid  silver  almost  to  the  roof ;  then  they  fall 
down  and  spread  out  wide  in  sheets,  of  the  color 
and  the  brightness  of  melted  gold ;  again  the 
water  rises  in  little  streams  that  twine  and  weave 
themselves  together  like  basket-work,  and  all  of 
deep,  shining  crimson ;  then  the  fountains  take 
other  fantastic  forms  and  other  colors,  purple 
or  green  or  orange,  but  always  glowing  with 


The  Minstrel  Knight  203 

light,  and  so  they  pass  to  silver  and  to  gold 
again. 

"  This  is  the  cave  of  Venus.  It  is  filled  with 
the  nymphs  who  attend  her,  and  they  are  sing- 
ing choruses  in  her  praise,  and  dancing  won- 
derful, mazy,  mad,  delirious  dances.  They 
whirl  about  and  around  alone,  in  couples,  in 
lines,  in  circles,  and  in  crowds,  their  arms  wav- 
ing and  their  hair  streaming  in  the  air.  Some- 
times while  they  dance  every  one  is  plainly  to 
be  seen,  and  again  their  garments  surround 
them  like  clouds,  and  they  are  all  one  waving, 
streaming,  fluttering  mass.  These  mists  of 
light  robes  then  are  like  the  fountains,  for  now 
they  are  shining  white,  now  red  or  yellow  or 
green  or  purple,  now  all  the  colors  together, 
mixed  and  blended  like  broken  and  tangled 
rainbows. 

"  If  you  could  see  all  that  I  see  here  in  the 
fire  I  think  you  would  be  delighted  with  it,  for 
a  little  while.  But  how  do  you  suppose  the 
minstrel  knight  likes  it  ?  He  sits  beside  the  god- 
dess and  looks  at  it  wearily.  He  has  seen  them 
all  so  much  that  walls  of  gems  and  streams  of 
gold  and  whirling  rainbows  do  not  please  him 
any  more.  He  has  been  here  in  the  cave  for  a 
whole  year.  He  sees  now  how  wrong  it  was  for 
him  to  come,  and  he  is  so  tired  of  it  all  that  he 
is  beginning  to  feel  that  he  would  rather  die 
than  be  among  these  mad  pleasures  any  longer. 


204          The  Wagner  Story  Book 

But  he  cannot  do  that  because  nobody  ever  dies 
here.  When  he  sees  these  walls  of  cold  crystal, 
gleaming  with  the  colored  light  from  the  great 
gems,  he  thinks  of  the  broad,  lovely  country 
that  he  once  saw,  that  stretched  away  and  ended 
only  at  the  blue  mountains,  and  of  the  silver 
river  that  never  changed  to  blood,  or  to  green 
fire,  with  the  clear  sunlight  brightening  them 
all. 

"  If  he  tries  to  rest  his  eyes  upon  the  great, 
glowing,  magic  flowers  that  cover  the  ground, 
they  only  make  him  think  of  the  red  poppies 
that  shone  out  from  the  fields  of  ripening  grain, 
and  of  the  blue  of  the  corn-flowers,  and  then  he 
tries  to  think  of  the  perfume  from  the  flowers 
that  filled  the  air  after  it  grew  still  at  evening. 
There  are  odors  here,  too,  but  they  are  so  heavy 
and  sweet  that  after  a  time  it  is  almost  a  pain 
to  smell  them.  He  hears  the  rush  and  the  dash 
of  the  fountains,  and  he  longs  for  the  low,  merry 
little  sound  of  the  brook  that  ran  along  beside 
his  road.  The  air  here  is  full  of  music,  the  rich 
harmonies  of  many  instruments  and  the  voices 
of  the  nymphs  who  sing  their  choruses  to 
Venus,  but  his  ears  are  tired  of  the  sounds, 
and  he  wishes  that  he  might  hear  only  the 
sleepy  tinkle  of  the  sheep-bells,  chiming  with 
the  voice  of  the  brook.  But  more  than  every- 
thing else  he  thinks  of  the  princess.  He  re- 
members now  how  kind  and  true  she  was,  and 


The  Minstrel  Knight  205 

how  much  truer  he  ought  to  have  been  in  re- 
turn than  he  really  was.  He  wonders  if  she 
still  remembers  him,  if  she  thinks  him  dead,  and 
then  his  heart  stops,  as  he  wonders  if  she  her- 
self is  dead.  Oh,  it  is  a  fine  time  now  to  think 
of  these  things !  If  he  had  only  remembered 
the  princess  once  before,  instead  of  thinking 
what  a  great  minstrel  he  was,  he  would  never 
have  followed  Venus  into  her  cave.  Now  he 
can  only  think  of  that  great  wrong  he  did  and 
long  for  the  fresh  fields  and  woods,  for  the  air, 
the  sunlight — and  the  princess. 

"  Venus,  sitting  by  his  side,  sees  that  he  is 
troubled  and  asks  him  why.  He  tells  her  how 
much  he  wishes  that  he  might  see  again  the 
world  he  used  to  know,  and  live  the  life  he  used 
to  live,  and  he  begs  her  to  let  him  go.  She  is 
angry  at  first.  Has  she  not  brought  him  to  live 
here  among  such  delights  as  no  man  before  ever 
knew,  and  is  he  tired  of  them  now,  and  does  he 
want  to  escape  from  them?  He  can  only  say 
that  he  will  never  forget  her  or  the  beautiful 
things  he  has  seen  here,  but  he  can  never  be 
happy  here  again,  and  if  she  will  only  let  him  he 
must  go.  At  last  she  tells  him  that  he  may  go. 
'  But  you  will  not  be  happy,'  she  says;  'your  old 
friends  will  scorn  you  when  they  know  where 
you  have  been.  They  will  never  forgive  you 
for  coming  here.  You  will  find  no  rest,  no 
help,  no  hope.  Then,  when  you  learn  that  you 


206  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

can  have  peace  nowhere  else,  come  back  to  me 
and  stay  with  me  forever.' 

"  All  at  once  the  cave,  with  everything  in  it, 
is  gone.  The  knight  knows  how  or  where  it 
went  no  more  than  I.  As  for  him,  he  does  not 
know  that  he  has  moved  from  his  place,  and  as 
for  me,  the  fire  is  burning  just  as  it  did  before. 
Yet  now  I  see  him  lying  on  the  soft  grass  of  a 
beautiful  valley.  Above  him  are  the  sky  and 
the  nodding  branches  of  the  trees  ;  around  are 
the  hills.  He  sees  and  he  smells  the  flowers 
that  were  lost  to  him  so  long.  The  low  tinkle 
of  the  sheep-bells  comes  again  drowsily  to  his 
ears.  A  little  way  up  the  hill  a  shepherd  is 
playing  softly  on  his  pipe.  He  picks  a  flower 
and  smells  it,  to  be  sure  that  it  is  all  real. 
Then  the  tears  come  to  his  eyes  as  he  thinks  of 
all  the  beauty  and  sweetness  of  the  life  that  he 
lost  and  has  found  again. 

"  But  now  a  band  of  pious  pilgrims  passes, 
on  the  way  to  Rome.  They  are  going  to  ask 
the  Pope  to  forgive  their  sins.  The  sight  of 
them  brings  a  new  thought  to  the  knight.  It 
is  the  thought  of  his  own  sin.  Now  that  he 
sees  again  the  sweet  loveliness  of  the  world,  he 
feels  at  last  fully  how  wicked  it  was  for  him  to 
leave  it  and  all  his  own  duties  and  his  friends 
in  it.  He  is  in  despair  when  he  thinks  that  he 
is  no  longer  worthy  of  the  princess,  if  indeed 
he  ever  were.  He  dares  not  see  her  again  ;  he 


The  Minstrel  Knight  207 

dares  not  ask  his  friends  to  be  his  friends 
longer;  he  throws  himself  upon  the  ground 
and  feels  that  he  has  no  more  a  place  in  this 
happy  world. 

"  At  this  very  moment  comes  a  company  of 
huntsmen  riding  past.  Their  leader  is  the 
prince  himself  and  the  rest  are  the  friends  of 
the  minstrel  knight,  the  very  ones  with  whom 
he  should  have  sung  for  the  prize  a  year  ago. 
Very  glad  they  are  to  find  him,  after  thinking 
him  dead  so  long,  and  they  insist  that  he  must 
come  with  them  and  be  one  of  them  again. 
He  will  not  go  with  them.  He  feels  that  he  is 
not  like  them  any  more.  His  wrong  has  been 
so  great  that  he  dares  not  be  with  brave,  good 
men.  They  urge  him,  but  it  is  useless.  But 
there  is  one  among  them,  a  knight  and  a  min- 
strel too,  who  also  loves  the  princess.  She 
does  not  love  him,  but  his  own  love  is  so  deep 
and  true  that  he  will  do  anything  to  make  her 
happy.  When  he  finds  that  nothing  else  can 
move  the  stubborn  knight  he  tells  him  that  the 
princess  still  loves  him,  that  she  has  grieved 
for  him  all  the  time  that  he  has  been  lost,  and 
that  he  must  come  back  to  them  for  her  sake. 
He  is  touched  at  last.  He  had  not  dared  to 
ask  of  her,  and  now  he  knows  that  he  may  see 
her  again,  that  she  could  never  forget  like  him, 
that  she  will  love  him  and  forgive  him.  He 
cannot  resist.  He  will  go. 


208  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

"  They  are  all  in  the  hall  of  the  prince's  cas- 
tle now.  They  are  to  sing  again  for  a  prize 
and  again  the  princess  is  to  give  it.  The 
prince  tells  them  that  they  must  all  sing  of 
love.  The  knight  who  loves  the  princess  hope- 
lessly begins.  He  sings  of  his  own  love,  how 
it  is  fixed  upon  one  who  does  not  love  him  in  re- 
turn, and  how  still  his  love  for  her  is  all  the  joy 
he  has,  and  he  would  gladly  lose  the  last  blood 
of  his  heart  for  her.  They  all  cry  out  that  he 
has  sung  nobly,  except  the  knight  from  the  cave, 
of  Venus.  He  thinks  this  is  a  very  weak,  silly 
kind  of  love ;  he  sings  in  a  very  different  way, 
and  he  tells  them  that  if  they  want  to  know 
what  love  really  is  they  must  go  and  learn  of 
the  Goddess  of  Love. 

"  They  are  all  filled  with  horror.  They  know 
now  where  he  has  been.  He  has  left  the  prin- 
cess for  Venus ;  he  has  learned  to  scorn  their 
knightly  love ;  worse  than  all,  it  seems  to  them, 
he,  a  Christian  man,  has  passed  a  whole  year  in 
the  home  of  a  heathen  goddess.  They  declare 
that  he  has  betrayed  them  in  daring  to  come 
among  them  like  an  honest  knight.  They  for- 
get that  he  refused  to  come,  that  he  told  them 
he  was  unworthy  of  them  and  was  too  wicked 
to  be  one  of  them,  and  they  almost  compelled 
him.  So  their  swords  are  out  to  kill  him.  But 
the  princess,  whom  he  has  injured  a  thousand 
times  as  much  as  all  of  them  put  together,  com- 


The  Minstrel  Knight  209 

mands  them  to  spare  him.  He  may  yet  be  for- 
given, she  says,  and  it  is  not  for  them  to  judge. 
She  will  pray  for  him  as  long  as  she  lives,  and 
God  may  pardon  him.  At  her  word  they  draw 
back  and  put  up  their  swords,  yet  they  think 
his  guilt  too  great  ever  to  be  forgiven.  There 
can  be  but  one  only  hope  for  him,  says  the 
prince;  some  of  the  pilgrims  on  their  way  to 
Rome  are  still  in  the  valley ;  he  must  go  with 
them  and  pray  for  pardon  from  the  Pope. 

"  Never  another  pilgrim  toiled  along  the  road 
to  Rome  feeling  such  a  heavy  weight  of  sin  to 
be  forgiven  as  the  minstrel  knight.  He  does 
not  talk  with  the  others  or  lighten  the  way  as 
they  do  with  holy  songs.  He  knows  not  how 
to  suffer  enough  for  his  guilt,  and  to  seek  out 
punishments  for  himself  is  his  only  content. 
Some  of  the  pilgrims  walk  where  the  grass  is 
soft  and  cool ;  he  chooses  the  paths  that  are  full 
of  stones  and  thorns.  They  drink  at  the  springs 
of  cold  water ;  he  thirsts  more  than  they,  but  he 
turns  away  and  lets  the  noon  sun  blaze  down 
upon  his  bare  head.  They  find  shelter  and  rest 
for  the  night;  he  lies  upon  the  snow  of  the 
mountain  and  sleeps  there,  if  he  sleeps  at  all. 
When  he  comes  near  to  Italy  he  fears  that  the 
sight  of  that  lovely  land  will  be  pleasing  to  his 
eyes,  and  so  he  has  himself  led  blindfold  on  to 
Rome. 

"  The  Pope  sits  upon  his  throne,  and  before 


2io  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

him  come  all  who  seek  for  pardon.  He  forgives 
them,  blesses  them,  and  sends  them  away.  At 
last  comes  the  minstrel  knight.  He  throws 
himself  on  the  stones  before  the  feet  of  the  Pope 
and  tells  the  story  of  all  the  wrong  that  he  has 
done.  The  Pope  listens  and  is  filled  with  horror, 
as  the  prince  and  the  knights  were  before,  and 
there  is  no  princess  here  to  say  one  word  of  love 
or  mercy.  '  There  is  no  hope  for  you,'  he  an- 
swers, '  no  pardon,  no  hope.  Your  guilt  is  too 
deep  and  black.  As  soon  shall  this  naked  staff 
I  hold  bear  flowers  and  leaves  as  one  like  you 
find  forgiveness  or  mercy.' 

"  And  so  the  minstrel  knight  shrinks  away. 
He  knows  not  where  to  turn.  All  places  are 
alike  to  him,  alike  full  of  darkness  and  despair. 
The  pilgrims  are  returning  home.  He  follows 
them,  as  a  dog  that  had  been  struck  and  wound- 
ed might  crawl  after  men  who  had  been  his 
friends. 

"  I  see  the  beautiful  valley  again.  The  prin- 
cess is  kneeling  before  a  little  cross.  She  is 
praying  that  the  knight  whom  she  loves  may  be 
forgiven.  Back  in  the  rising  shadows  of  the 
evening  stands  the  knight  who  loves  her  hope- 
lessly, watching  her  as  she  prays.  The  pilgrims 
are  coming  from  Rome.  They  are  singing 
songs  of  mercy  and  peace.  The  princess  looks 
eagerly  among  them.  The  minstrel  knight  is 
not  there.  *  He  will  never  come  back,'  she 


The  Minstrel  Knight  211 

sighs,  and  she  turns  away  and  slowly  climbs  the 
hill  toward  her  father's  castle,  where  she  may 
pray  for  him  again. 

"  And  now  a  dark  figure  comes  slowly,  fear- 
fully on,  by  the  way  that  the  pilgrims  have 
passed.  He  sees  his  friend,  standing  where  he 
stood  while  the  princess  prayed.  He  calls  to 
him  to  stand  back  ;  he  is  too  guilty  for  any  good 
man  to  touch  or  come  near  him.  He  tells  him 
how  he  went  to  Rome  and  what  the  Pope  said. 
Then  he  tells  the  awful  thought  that  is  now  in 
his  mind.  The  Goddess  of  Love  and  Beauty 
bade  him  when  all  hope  should  be  lost  to  come 
to  her  again  and  stay  with  her  forever.  He  is 
seeking  her  mountain  now.  He  calls  to  her  to 
guide  him.  Now  at  the  very  back  of  the  fire  I 
see  a  rising  red  glow.  The  goddess  is  there 
and  she  calls  to  him  to  hasten  to  her.  'You 
are  mad,'  cries  his  friend;  'stay;  be  brave; 
bear  it  all,  and  you  may  yet  be  forgiven.' 

"  Suddenly  there  comes  to  the  knight  another 
thought — the  best  thought  he  has  ever  had — the 
princess.  Instantly  the  red  glow  is  gone  and 
the  goddess  is  hidden  from  him  forever.  His 
friend  knows  his  thought.  'She  is  up  there,' 
he  says,  '  praying  for  you  still.' 

"At  last  the  knight  is  humbled,  overcome, 
subdued.  He  falls  upon  his  face  and  prays  for 
pardon,  as  the  princess  is  praying  for  him  up 
there  in  the  castle.  And  now  all  at  once  there 


212  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

is  a  glad  shout,  a  song  of  happiness  and  peace. 
Another  band  of  pilgrims  has  come  from  Rome. 
They  are  bringing  the  staff  of  the  Pope,  and  all 
in  a  night  it  has  borne  flowers  and  leaves.  The 
smell  of  lilies  fills  the  air.  They  are  carrying 
the  staff  through  the  land  to  tell  the  knight  and 
all  other  men  like  him,  if,  indeed,  there  are 
others,  that  they  are  forgiven.  The  minstrel 
knight  has  found  pardon  and  he  may  rest." 

"  And  what  became  of  the  princess  ?  "  the  lit- 
tle girl  asked. 

"  The  fire  is  too  low,"  I  said ;  "  I  cannot  see 
any  more.  What  do  you  think  became  of  her  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  answered,  "  but  I  think 
she  must  be  very  happy  that  the  knight  is  for- 
given." 

"  I  think  they  are  both  very  happy,"  I  said. 


THE   KING  OF  THE  GRAIL 


THE  KING  OF  THE  GRAIL 

IT  was  the  last  evening  of  the  year.  In 
honor  of  the  occasion  the  little  girl  was  allowed 
to  sit  up  rather  later  than  usual — not  till  mid- 
night, of  course,  so  that  she  could  see  how  dif- 
ferent the  whole  world  would  look  after  the 
clock  had  struck,  but  long  enough  to  make  her 
feel  that  she  was  doing  something  very  pleasant, 
because  something  that  it  was  not  good  for  her 
to  do  very  often.  Our  friends  down  by  the  sea 
had  sent  us  a  strange  Christmas  present,  but  they 
knew  what  we  wanted.  It  was  a  big  box  of 
driftwood,  almost  a  wagon-load.  We  resolved 
that  it  should  not  be  used  except  on  great  oc- 
casions, and  of  course  New  Year's  eve  was  a 
great  occasion.  Here  in  the  city  we  could  not 
listen  in  the  evening  stillness  and  catch  the  low 
murmur  of  the  restless  water,  but  the  fire 
burned  with  the  same  strange  and  lovely  colors 
as  if  it  had  been  kindled  on  the  beach.  To- 
night it  was  not  likely  that  we  should  see  any 
storms  or  any  ghostly  ships,  yet  the  little  girl 
knew  well  enough  that  there  were  wonderful 
things  to  be  seen  in  that  fire. 


216  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

"  What  can  you  see  in  it  ?  "  I  asked  her. 

"  I  don't  want  to  see  things  myself,"  she  said. 
"  I  want  you  to  see  them.  Just  think ;  this  is 
the  last  time  we  can  have  any  stories  about  the 
fire  this  year." 

"  But  the  new  year  will  begin  to-morrow," 
I  said,  "  and  it  will  be  just  as  good  as  the  old 
one,  will  it  not?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  suppose  so,"  she  said,  "  but  this 
has  been  such  a  nice  year  that  I  don't  like  to 
have  it  go.  But  now  tell  me  what  is  in  the 
fire." 

"  There  are  so  many  strange  things  in  it  that 
I  scarcely  know  how  to  begin  to  tell  you  about 
them.  I  am  very  much  afraid  that  I  shall  not 
make  you  understand  all  that  I  see  in  the  fire 
to-night,  and  I  am  the  more  afraid  of  it  because 
I  am  not  at  all  sure  that  I  can  quite  understand 
it  all  myself.  But  first  the  reddest  and  bright- 
est spot  in  the  whole  fire  begins  to  grow  redder 
and  brighter  and  to  take  a  new  shape.  It  is 
the  shape  of  a  goblet.  It  is  of  clear  crystal  and 
its  sharp  angles  and  edges  sparkle  with  many 
colors,  but  within  it  that  strange,  deep  red 
glows  and  shines  and  grows  brighter  still,  till  it 
beats  and  throbs  as  if  it  were  alive.  And  all 
around  it,  too,  there  is  a  circle  of  soft  rays  of 
light,  like  a  halo. 

"  Perhaps  you  know  what  this  is,  but  I  am 
afraid  you  don't.  Do  you  remember  what  I 


The  King  of  the  Grail  217 

told  you  once  about  the  Holy  Grail  ?  This  is 
the  Holy  Grail — the  cup  from  which  the  Sav- 
iour drank  at  the  Last  Supper,  and  in  which 
afterwards  His  blood  was  caught  as  He  hung 
upon  the  cross.  It  is  that  blood  in  the  cup 
which  is  still  alive  and  glows  and  beats  and 
throbs.  This  Holy  Grail,  as  I  told  you  before, 
is  guarded  by  a  band  of  knights  in  a  beautiful 
temple,  which  nobody  can  find  except  those 
whom  the  Grail  itself  has  chosen  and  allowed 
to  come.  I  can  see  the  temple  now.  It  has  a 
high,  light,  graceful  dome,  which  rests  on  tall 
pillars  of  marble  that  is  like  snow.  The  whole 
temple  may  be  of  something  like  snow,  too,  for 
it  melts  away  so  that  I  cannot  see  it  and  comes 
again,  then  half  of  it  is  gone  and  then  the  other 
half,  so  that  I  scarcely  know  whether  I  see  it  at 
all.  Perhaps  it  is  the  smoke  of  the  fire  that 
makes  it  seem  so.  But  I  can  see  that  the  dome 
is  all  covered  with  figures  and  traceries  of 
gold,  which  bloom  out  bright  like  flowers  when- 
ever the  whole  dome  looks  plainest,  and  then 
fade  again.  But  when  the  smoke  comes  across 
the  whole  picture  and  darkens  it  for  a  moment, 
then  the  lines  upon  the  dome  show  through  it 
like  fire,  and  they  change  and  waver,  and  then 
the  whole  temple  is  gone  again. 

"  You  remember  something  about  the  Grail's 
knights.  The  Knight  of  the  Swan  was  one  of 
them.  They  live  here  in  the  temple,  except 


2i8  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

when  they  are  sent  away  on  some  journey,  to 
help  some  one  who  is  in  trouble,  to  do  some  act 
of  justice,  to  fight  for  the  right,  or  to  punish 
the  wrong.  And  whether  they  stay  here  or  go 
as  far  away  as  they  can,  they  never  need  any 
food  except  what  the  Grail  gives  them.  The 
Grail  chooses  them  at  first,  feeds  them  after- 
wards, and  gives  them  their  commands,  for 
sometimes,  in  that  halo  that  shines  around  it, 
there  appear  letters  and  words  to  tell  the 
knights  what  they  should  know.  And  once  a 
year,  on  Good  Friday,  a  white  dove  flies  into 
the  temple  and  rests  upon  the  Holy  Grail,  to 
give  it  more  of  these  powers  for  the  coming 
year. 

"  I  see  now  a  strange-looking  man  with  a 
dark  face  and  deep,  bright  eyes  which  seem 
never  to  rest,  but  always  to  look  and  search  for 
something  that  they  never  find.  Yet  now  and 
then  a  cruel  light  comes  into  them  and  makes 
them  blaze  for  an  instant,  and  his  hard  lips 
smile  a  little,  and  then  his  face  grows  stern 
and  gloomy  again.  He  is  a  wicked  magician. 
Once  he  wanted  to  join  the  Knights  of  the 
Grail.  He  could  even  be  their  king,  he 
thought.  But  the  Grail  chose  its  own  knights 
and  it  did  not  choose  him.  Then  he  swore 
that  he  would  be  avenged  upon  the  Grail 
knights  ;  he  would  tempt  them  away  from  the 
temple,  he  would  overthrow  them,  he  would 


The  King  of  the  Grail  219 

find  a  way  to  steal  the  Grail  itself.  It  was  for 
this  that  he  learned  his  magic.  He  built  an 
enchanted  castle  not  far  from  the  Temple  of 
the  Grail  and  filled  it  with  every  kind  of  pleas- 
ure that  he  could  devise.  Then  he  tried  to 
entice  good  knights  to  come  to  his  castle,  and 
if  any  knight  came,  if  any  stayed  in  the  en- 
chanted halls  to  eat  or  drink  or  dance  or  play, 
that  knight  was  lost  forever.  He  could  go  back 
to  his  old  friends  and  his  old  life  no  more,  and 
his  use  in  the  world  was  ended. 

"  Again  I  see  a  woman — a  woman  yet  more 
strange  than  this  man.  You  will  think  so 
when  I  tell  you  who  she  is.  You  remember 
the  wife  of  the  King,  whose  daughter  danced 
before  the  King  and  pleased  him  so  much  that 
he  promised  her  any  gift  she  should  ask ;  how 
the  Queen  told  her  to  ask  for  the  head  of  the 
great  prophet,  who  was  in  prison,  and  how  the 
head  was  cut  off  and  brought  to  her.  This 
woman  whom  I  see  was  that  Queen.  The  old 
stories  say  that  she  saw  the  Saviour  as  He 
passed,  bearing  His  cross  upon  His  back,  and 
that  she  laughed  at  Him.  He  only  looked  at 
her  sorrowfully  and  spoke  no  word.  But  al- 
ways from  that  time  she  was  forced  to  wander 
through  the  world,  and  laugh  at  everything 
that  was  true  and  good.  Can  you  think  of 
anything  more  horrible?  After  a  long,  weary 
time  she  wished  that  she  might  die,  but  still 


22O  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

through  all  lands  she  journeyed,  laughing  at 
everything  she  saw  that  was  sweet  and  pure 
and  holy.  The  wish  to  die  grew  and  grew  till 
it  was  her  only  longing.  But  she  could  not 
die.  For  hundreds  of  years  she  has  lived  un- 
changed. Some  say  that  she  can  never  die  or 
grow  old  till  the  best  knight  of  all  the  world 
shall  come  and  pardon  her  great  sins.  Others 
say  that  she  must  live  till  one  comes  whom  she 
cannot  tempt  away  by  her  beauty  from  the 
path  he  follows. 

"For  she  is  very  beautiful.  It  is  not  the 
beauty  of  a  common  woman  that  she  has,  but 
something  far  beyond  it.  She  can  be  tender, 
sweet,  gentle,  enticing,  and  then  in  an  instant 
proud,  defiant,  radiant.  Perhaps  the  wicked 
magician  has  given  her  some  of  this  wonderful 
beauty  by  his  magic,  for  she  is  in  his  power  and 
helps  him  to  entrap  knights  into  his  castle, 
where  they  lose  all  hope  of  returning  to  the  life 
of  the  world  and  of  doing  good  in  it.  She  does 
not  wish  to  do  this,  but  the  magician  compels 
her.  So  always  she  must  tempt  and  entice  at 
his  command  the  knights  who  come  near  his 
castle,  and  always  she  must  long  for  one  to 
come  whom  she  cannot  tempt,  for  then  she  will 
be  free.  The  knights  of  the  Grail  are  not  the 
men  for  whom  she  waits.  To  tempt  them  is 
only  too  easy.  Even  their  King  cannot  resist 
her. 


The  King  of  the  Grail  221 

"  I  see  the  King  of  the  Grail  now.  He  holds 
a  spear  in  his  hand  that  is  almost  as  great  and 
wonderful  a  thing  as  the  Grail  itself.  From 
the  point  of  the  spear  flows  a  little  stream  of 
blood.  It  trickles  down  the  shaft  of  the  spear 
to  the  King's  hand  that  holds  it,  but  the  blood 
does  not  stain  the  hand  ;  it  flows  over  it  and 
leaves  it  clean  and  white.  It  is  the  very  spear 
with  which  the  Roman  soldier  wounded  the 
side  of  the  Saviour,  and  ever  since  that  time 
the  blood  has  run  from  its  point.  But  the 
King  has  wandered  too  far  away  from  the 
Temple  of  the  Grail  and  too  near  the  magi- 
cian's enchanted  castle.  The  magician  sees 
him  and  sends  the  woman  to  try  to  bring  him 
within  his  power.  Such  wonderful  beauty  as 
hers  the  King  has  never  seen  before.  For  one 
instant  in  looking  at  her  he  forgets  to  guard 
the  spear;  he  lets  it  go  from  his  hand,  the 
magician  seizes  it  and  strikes  the  King  with  it 
in  the  side.  He  is  borne  back  to  the  temple 
with  just  such  a  wound  as  that  other  which 
this  same  spear  made  so  many  years  ago.  And 
the  magician  has  the  spear.  As  he  holds  it  the 
blood  flows  from  its  point  and  trickles  down 
the  shaft,  and  as  it  flows  over  his  hand  it  stains 
it  a  deep,  ugly  red.  He  carries  the  spear  to 
his  castle.  He  has  stolen  this,  and  now  he  will 
wait  on  and  watch  for  a  chance  to  steal  the 
Grail. 


222  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

"  And  the  wound  in  the  King's  side  will  not 
heal.  All  that  can  be  done  with  medicines  and 
balsams  and  ointments  is  done,  but  they  are  of 
no  use.  Many  years  pass — yes,  just  while  we 
are  looking  into  the  fire — and  still  the  wound  is 
the  same,  still  it  burns  and  stings,  and  still  it 
bleeds  again  whenever  the  King  uncovers  the 
Grail  so  that  it  may  feed  the  knights  who  are 
in  the  temple  and  help  those  who  are  far  away. 
Some  wounds,  some  sicknesses,  the  Grail  itself 
can  cure,  but  it  cannot  cure  this,  or  it  will  not. 
Yet  once,  while  the  King  knelt  before  it,  he  saw 
words  that  shone  like  fire  in  the  halo  around  it, 
and  they  said  :  '  Wait  for  the  simple  Fool,  taught 
by  pity,  for  him  I  have  chosen.'  Perhaps  you 
do  not  see  quite  what  that  means.  Well,  I  don't 
think  the  King  quite  knows  what  it  means  either, 
but  he  knows  that  he  has  something  to  wait  for, 
and  that  is  better  than  knowing  nothing  at  all 
about  it.  That  was  years  ago,  and  still  the 
wound  burns  and  stings,  and  still  it  bleeds  when 
the  King  uncovers  the  Grail. 

"  When  we  look  into  the  fire  we  can  go  back 
through  the  years  just  as  well  as  forward.  So 
now,  going  back  for  a  little  while  and  far  away 
from  the  Temple  of  the  Grail,  I  see  something 
very  different  from  what  we  have  seen  before. 
I  see  a  boy  who  lives  with  his  mother  in  a  forest. 
His  father  was  a  knight  and  was  killed  in  battle. 
His  mother  feared  that  when  he  grew  up  he 


The  King  of  the  Grail  223 

would  want  to  be  a  knight  too,  and  would  be 
killed  in  the  same  way,  so  she  brought  him  here 
to  the  forest  and  kept  him  away  from  the  great 
world  where  men  live  and  work  and  fight,  and 
never  let  him  know  anything  about  knights  or 
battles  or  tournaments  or  the  courts  of  kings. 
She  lets  him  learn  to  shoot  with  a  bow  as  he 
grows  up,  and  to  hunt  the  beasts  of  the  woods. 
He  can  hit  any  bird  that  flies  with  his  arrows, 
and  he  runs  so  fast  that  he  can  catch  the  deer 
by  the  horns. 

"  Yet  he  does  not  know  that  men  wear  armor 
and  fight  with  spears  and  swords,  and  he  has 
never  heard  of  an  army  or  a  battle.  Perhaps  he 
may  be  almost  enough  of  a  simple  fool  about 
these  things  to  help  the  King  of  the  Grail." 

"  I  don't  think  he  was  a  fool  at  all,"  said  the 
little  girl,  "  if  his  mother  wouldn't  let  him  hear 
anything  about  such  things." 

"  I  think,"  I  answered,  "  that  the  letters  around 
the  Grail  could  not  have  meant  quite  what  we 
mean  by  a  fool.  The  Grail  would  not  choose 
any  such  person,  I  am  sure.  They  must  have 
meant  some  one  who  was  good  and  simple  and 
had  not  learned  the  ways  of  the  world.  And 
then  you  know  the  letters  said,  '  taught  by  pity,' 
so  I  suppose  he  is  to  be  a  fool  at  all  only  till  he 
is  '  taught  by  pity.'  Well,  the  mother  might 
have  known  that  she  could  not  keep  her  boy  in 
this  ignorance  forever,  and  so  one  day  he  meets 


224  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

three  knights  riding  through  the  forest.  He  is 
filled  with  wonder  and  delight  at  their  polished 
armor,  their  waving  plumes,  and  their  long 
spears,  with  their  glittering  points.  He  asks 
them  who  they  are  and  what  all  these  wonder- 
ful things  are  for.  They  tell  him  that  they  are 
knights,  and  everything  else  that  he  wants  to 
know,  and  then  he  runs  home  to  his  mother  and 
tells  her  that  he  wants  to  go  away  and  see  the 
world  and  be  a  knight  too. 

"  She  tries  to  tell  him  that  knights  are  wicked 
men,  but  he  will  not  believe  it,  and  he  begs  her 
to  let  him  go.  She  sees  that  she  cannot  keep 
him,  that  all  her  care  has  been  lost,  and  at  last 
she  says  that  he  may  go.  He  has  no  armor,  but 
perhaps  he  may  get  that  some  time.  He  takes 
his  bow  and  his  arrows  and  wanders  away 
through  the  forest,  and  his  mother  looks  after 
him  till  she  can  see  no  more  through  her  tears. 

"  We  are  back  near  the  Temple  of  the  Grail 
now.  I  see  a  beautiful,  deep  forest.  An  old 
knight  and  two  young  squires  are  lying  on  a 
green  bank  and  are  just  awaking  at  the  sound  of 
trumpets  from  the  temple.  They  are  scarcely 
awake  when  a  strange  creature  is  seen  coming 
toward  them.  It  is  a  woman  upon  a  galloping 
horse.  And  the  horse  is  strange  enough  too. 
Its  mane  is  so  long  that  it  drags  upon  the 
ground,  and  then  the  wind  catches  it  and  blows 
it  about  till  the  horse  looks  like  a  hurrying  black 


The  King  of  the  Grail  225 

cloud,  and  its  eyes  show  through  the  cloud  like 
flashes  of  lightning.  The  woman's  eyes  some- 
times are  deep  and  full  of  fire,  and  sometimes 
they  look  dull  and  cold,  almost  dead.  She  is 
not  beautiful.  She  has  a  dark  face,  burned  as 
if  she  had  travelled  much  under  hot  suns.  Her 
long  black  hair  is  in  disorder  and  flies  all  about 
her  in  the  wind.  Her  dress  is  in  disorder  too, 
and  it  is  fastened  around  the  waist  by  a  girdle 
of  snake  skin,  with  long  ends  that  hang  down  to 
the  ground.  Everything  about  her  looks  wild 
and  terrible.  She  is  a  woman  whom  you  would 
not  care  to  meet  on  a  lonely  road  after  dark 
and  on  a  horse  like  this.  Yet  if  you  looked  at 
her  face  more  closely  you  would  not  find  any- 
thing cruel  in  it,  but  you  would  find  a  great 
deal  of  sorrow  and  suffering. 

"  You  can  never  guess  who  this  woman  is,  so 
I  must  tell  you.  She  is  the  very  same  who  helps 
the  wicked  magician  to  entice  knights  into  his 
castle.  She  looks  very  different  now,  to  be  sure, 
but  it  is  a  strange  life  that  she  leads  altogether. 
It  is  only  when  she  is  asleep  that  the  magician 
has  power  over  her.  When  she  is  awake  she 
tries  to  atone  a  little  for  her  great  sins  by  serv- 
ing the  Holy  Grail.  She  rides  all  over  the 
world  and  brings  news  of  battles  or  messages 
from  knights  of  the  Grail  who  are  in  distant 
countries,  or  she  stays  here  and  finds  work  to 
do  at  home.  But  always,  because  of  her  curse, 


226  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

she  laughs,  even  at  the  good  that  she  herself 
tries  to  do.  And  at  last  the  longing  for  rest 
comes  upon  her  again  till  she  cannot  resist  it. 
She  sinks  to  sleep,  and  then  the  magician  calls 
her.  She  is  forced  to  obey  him,  he  gives  her 
back  that  wonderful  beauty,  and  she  helps  him 
in  his  wicked  work. 

"  Now  she  has  been  all  the  way  to  Arabia  to 
find  a  balsam  for  the  King's  wound.  She  gives 
it  to  the  old  knight,  in  a  little  flask,  and  then 
throws  herself  upon  the  ground  to  rest.  At  the 
same  time  there  comes  a  train  of  knights,  bear- 
ing the  King  of  the  Grail  in  a  litter  toward  the 
lake  for  his  morning  bath.  He  thanks  the 
woman  for  bringing  the  balsam,  but  she  only 
laughs  at  what  she  has  done  and  at  his  thanks. 
It  will  do  him  no  good,  she  says.  Alas,  he  knows 
too  well  that  it  will  do  him  none.  Nobody  can 
do  him  good  but  the  simple  Fool,  taught  by  pity. 
And  so  they  carry  him  on  to  his  bath. 

"  The  old  knight  stays  behind.  '  Why  should 
we  try  all  these  things,'  he  thinks  again,  '  when 
none  can  help  him  but  the  simple  Fool  ? '  At 
this  instant  a  swan  flies  up  from  the  lake  and 
then  suddenly  flutters  and  falls  upon  the  ground. 
There  is  an  arrow  through  its  heart.  Every- 
body who  sees  it  cries  out  in  horror,  for  it  is  one 
of  the  laws  of  this  place  that  no  animal  shall  be 
harmed.  What  man  cruel  enough  to  kill  this 
beautiful,  harmless  swan  can  have  found  his  way 


The  King  of  the  Grail  227 

here,  where  none  can  come  who  is  not  chosen 
by  the  Grail  ?  In  a  moment  some  squires  run 
in,  bringing  the  murderer  of  the  swan.  He  is 
scarcely  a  man  at  all,  hardly  more  than  a  boy, 
and  he  carries  a  bow  and  arrow.  It  is  the  same 
boy  whom  we  saw  living  in  the  woods  with  his 
mother.  The  old  knight  looks  at  him  sorrow- 
fully. '  Did  you  kill  this  poor  bird  ? '  he  asks. 

"  '  Yes,  to  be  sure,'  says  the  young  man, '  I  can 
hit  anything.' 

"  The  old  knight  talks  with  him  kindly  and 
tells  him  how  wrong  it  is  to  kill  harmless 
things.  His  mother  never  taught  him  that. 
She  only  tried  to  keep  him  from  knowing  any- 
thing about  knights.  The  old  man  makes  him 
see  how  cruel  he  has  been,  and  at  last  the  boy 
throws  away  his  arrows  and  breaks  his  bow. 
Now  the  knight  asks  him  who  he  is,  whence  he 
comes,  and  who  was  his  father,  but  he  can  an- 
swer nothing.  Indeed,  he  knows  little  enough 
of  these  things,  for  his  mother  never  told  him. 
His  mother  and  the  life  that  he  led  with  her 
in  the  forest  are  all  that  he  can  remember  to 
tell  the  old  knight.  Even  of  his  mother  and  of 
his  old  life  the  strange  woman  who  lies  upon 
the  grass  can  tell  more  than  he,  for  she  has  seen 
him  and  his  mother  often,  though  they  did  not 
see  her,  and  she  laughs  at  the  poor  woman 
who  thought  she  could  keep  her  son  from  ever 
knowing  anything  of  arms  and  battles.  She 


228  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

tells  him,  too,  that  his  mother  is  dead ;  she 
saw  her  die  as  she  passed,  because  he  had  left 
her.  The  boy  is  moved  at  last,  frightened,  be- 
wildered. He  never  knew  anybody  but  his 
mother ;  she  was  his  only  friend  ;  she  taught 
him  all  he  ever  learned  ;  and  she  is  dead  be- 
cause  of  him.  What  shall  he  do  now  ? 

"  The  King  and  his  train  come  back  again 
from  the  lake  and  pass  on  toward  the  temple. 
The  woman  feels  the  terrible  weariness  coming 
upon  her  again.  She  struggles  against  it,  but 
it  is  of  no  use.  She  sinks  upon  the  ground 
behind  the  low  bushes  and  sleeps.  The  ma- 
gician can  have  her  now  if  he  wants  her,  and 
surely  he  will  want  her. 

"  The  old  knight  has  been  watching  the  boy. 
'  Can  it  be,'  he  thinks,  '  that  this  is  the  Fool, 
taught  by  pity,  for  whom  we  were  to  wait  ? ' 
That  he  is  a  fool  the  old  man  thinks  is  clear 
enough,  but  how  could  he  kill  the  swan  ?  He 
cannot  have  been  taught  very  much  by  pity. 
But  perhaps  the  time  for  that  has  not  come 
yet,  and  surely  he  could  not  get  here  at  all  if 
the  Grail  had  not  chosen  him  in  some  way. 
Perhaps  if  he  sees  the  King,  so  pale  and  sick 
with  his  wound,  and  knows  how  he  has  suffered 
with  it  these  many  years,  he  may  be  moved  to 
pity  and  may  learn  some  needful  things.  So 
the  old  knight  leads  him  gently  away  toward 
the  Temple  of  the  Grail. 


The  King  of  the  Grail  229 

"  They  walk  through  the  forest  and  among 
the  rocks,  and  as  they  go  there  comes  to  them 
a  sound  of  chimes.  It  grows  clearer  as  they 
go  on,  till  they  reach  the  temple,  and  then  it  is 
over  their  heads.  They  are  in  a  grand,  beauti- 
ful hall  that  is  something  like  a  church,  but  not 
quite.  There  are  tall  pillars  and  arches,  and 
high  above  everything  is  the  dome,  so  high 
that,  as  one  looks  up  into  it,  its  loftiest  curves 
seem  dim  and  misty  and  the  eye  loses  itself  in 
trying  to  see  how  high  it  is.  Yet  all  the  light 
of  the  great  hall  streams  down  from  there,  and 
down  from  there  too  comes  the  sound  of  the 
bells. 

"  The  knights  of  the  Grail  are  coming  into  the 
hall  and  sitting  at  two  tables,  long  and  curved, 
so  that  they  make  a  great  circle  just  under  the 
dome.  On  the  tables  before  them  are  cups, 
but  nothing  else.  As  the  knights  come  they 
sing  in  chorus,  and  voices  up  in  the  dome  and 
others  still  higher  answer  their  song,  while 
from  the  height  far  above  them  all  still  rings 
the  soft  voice  of  the  chimes.  And  now  the 
King  of  the  Grail  is  borne  in  upon  his  couch 
and  is  brought  to  the  highest  place  in  the  hall. 
Before  him  something  is  carried  covered  with 
purple  cloth.  It  is  the  Holy  Grail  itself,  and 
the  time  has  come  when  it  must  be  uncovered, 
that  it  may  feed  and  strengthen  its  knights. 

"  But  the  King  fears.     It  is  when  the  Grail 


230  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

is  uncovered  and  when  it  does  so  much  good 
to  all  the  others,  that  his  wound  always  bleeds 
again  and  the  pain  of  it  is  most  terrible.  Per- 
haps you  think  he  is  not  very  brave  to  delay 
what  he  knows  he  must  do,  but  only  think  of 
that  dreadful  wound  that  can  never  be  cured 
but  by  the  one  who  is  so  long  in  coming ;  yes, 
think  of  the  slow,  weary  years  that  he  has 
waited  for  the  simple  Fool,  and  you  will  not 
wonder  that  it  is  a  terrible  thing  to  him  to  un- 
cover the  Grail  again.  But  the  voices  up  in  the 
dome  still  sing  the  promise :  '  Wait  for  the 
simple  Fool,  taught  by  pity,  for  him  I  have 
chosen.'  The  knights  gently  bid  their  King  do 
his  duty.  He  makes  a  sign  to  the  boys  who 
have  brought  the  Grail.  They  uncover  it  and 
place  it  in  his  hand.  Everything  else  in  the  hall 
grows  dim,  while  one  clear  ray  of  light  falls 
from  the  dome  straight  upon  the  Grail,  and  the 
red  blood  that  is  in  it  shines  through  the  crystal 
of  the  goblet  as  if  it  were  a  light  itself. 

"  A  feeling  of  peace  and  gladness  comes 
upon  all,  even  upon  the  King.  But  now  the 
Grail  grows  dimmer.  The  boys  cover  it  again 
and  the  old  light  comes  slowly  back  into  the 
hall.  All  the  cups  on  the  tables  are  filled  with 
wine,  and  beside  each  one  is  a  piece  of  bread. 
It  is  thus  that  the  Holy  Grail  feeds  its  knights. 
But  the  King  does  not  eat,  and  suddenly  he 
grows  paler  and  presses  his  hand  to  his  side. 


The  King  of  the  Grail  231 

His  wound  is  bleeding  again  and  his  squires 
quickly  carry  him  away.  The  knights  leave 
the  hall  too.  The  old  knight  is  still  watching 
the  boy.  If  he  is  the  Fool  that  was  promised, 
if  he  is  to  be  taught  by  pity,  surely  he  must 
pity  the  poor  King  and  he  will  ask  something 
about  him,  why  he  suffers  so,  or  what  is  his 
wound.  But  the  old  knight  waits  and  the  boy 
says  nothing.  '  Do  you  know  what  you  have 
seen  ? '  the  knight  asks.  The  boy  only  shakes 
his  head.  Then  he  has  not  been  moved  at  all ; 
he  does  not  pity.  '  Begone,'  says  the  knight, 
'  you  are  good  for  nothing,'  and  he  sends  him 
away  and  is  alone.  And  still  from  the  dome,  far 
up  and  out  of  sight,  comes  the  chiming  of  the 
bells.  If  the  old  man  could  hear  it  right,  surely 
it  would  say  to  him  again  :  '  Wait  for  the  sim- 
ple Fool,  taught  by  pity,  for  him  I  have  chosen.' 
"  The  Temple  of  the  Grail  is  gone  now.  We 
are  in  the  castle  of  the  wicked  magician.  He 
has  been  thinking  too  of  the  young  man — the 
boy — the  Fool,  who  was  at  the  Temple  of  the 
Grail,  and  he  knows  more  about  him  than  the 
poor  old  knight.  He  knows  that  if  he  is  ever  to 
steal  the  Holy  Grail,  as  he  so  long  has  hoped 
to  do,  he  must  get  this  Fool  into  his  power,  of 
all  people  in  the  world.  He  has  a  magic  mir- 
ror in  which  he  can  see  him.  He  sees  that  he 
has  left  the  Temple  of  the  Grail  and  is  coming 
nearer  his  own  castle. 


232  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

"  Now  he  needs  the  help  of  the  woman,  the 
woman  who  is  sleeping  and  cannot  resist  him. 
He  lights  a  magic  fire,  right  there  where  you 
see  that  blue  flame  in  our  own  fire,  he  speaks 
magic  words,  and  the  woman  rises  out  of  the 
very  blue  flame  itself,  and  stands  before  him. 
But  how  different  she  is  from  that  woman  we 
saw  among  the  Grail  knights!  She  had  no 
beauty  then.  Now  it  is  radiant,  burning,  blind- 
ing. All  that  might  make  the  beauty  of  a  hun- 
dred women — the  pride,  the  tenderness,  the 
stateliness,  the  modesty,  the  fierceness,  the  gen- 
tleness, the  rounded  form,  the  glowing  color, 
the  waves  of  hair,  the  deep  eyes,  now  flashing 
and  fiery,  and  now  soft  and  dewy — are  hers. 
The  magician  smiles  as  he  sees  her.  With  her 
to  help  him,  what  can  he  not  do  ?  He  tells  her 
whom  she  is  to  entice  into  his  power.  She  will 
not  do  it,  she  says.  He  reminds  her  that  if  she 
cannot  entice  the  Fool  she  will  herself  be  saved 
from  all  her  wanderings  and  her  weary  life. 
He  need  not  remind  her  of  anything.  She  can- 
not resist  him  any  more  than  she  could  resist 
the  sleep  that  came  upon  her.  What  he  com- 
mands she  must  do. 

"  Still  the  magician  sees  the  boy  approaching. 
He  calls  to  the  knights  of  the  castle  to  defend 
it  against  him.  They  run  out  in  a  crowd  to 
meet  the  Fool.  He  snatches  weapons  from  the 
foremost  of  them  and  fights  them  all  at  once. 


The  King  of  the  Grail  233 

Some  he  wounds  and  all  he  drives  before  him, 
for  the  knights  that  are  in  the  magician's  power 
quickly  grow  to  be  cowards.  Not  all  of  them 
together  can  keep  him  back. 

"  And  now  I  see  the  garden  of  the  castle.  It 
is  full  of  big,  gay-colored,  gorgeous  flowers. 
They  trail  along  the  ground,  they  cluster  upon 
the  terraces,  they  climb  upon  the  walls  of  the 
castle  and  of  the  garden,  and  they  clutch  at  the 
ramparts  and  twine  and  twist  about  them.  I 
suppose  I  must  say  that  they  are  beautiful 
flowers,  but  they  are  not  of  the  sort  that  I  like. 
Anybody  can  see  that  there  is  magic  about 
them.  The  earth  and  the  water,  the  air  and 
the  sunshine,  never  would  make  such  flowers. 
It  might  not  be  easy  to  say  why,  but  just  a  sin- 
gle look  at  them  is  enough  to  make  one  feel 
sure  that  they  are  all  poisonous.  On  the  wall 
of  the  garden,  with  a  sword  in  his  hand,  stands 
the  Fool,  looking  down  into  it  and  wondering 
at  the  flowers.  There  were  none  in  the  least 
like  these  in  the  forest  where  he  lived  with  his 
mother,  and  none  about  the  Temple  of  the 
Grail. 

"  But  what  is  this  more  wonderful  sight  still 
that  he  sees  ?  Are  the  flowers  alive,  and  are 
they  running  about  and  playing  together  ?  It 
is  a  crowd  of  girls,  with  queer,  bright  colored 
gowns  that  make  them  look  for  all  the  world 
like  the  huge  flowers  of  the  garden.  They 


234  TFie  Wagner  Story  Book 

have  just  run  out  of  the  castle  and  they  are  all 
in  confusion,  and  are  crying  and  complaining 
because  the  knights,  who  were  their  play-fel- 
lows, have  been  beaten  and  wounded.  Who  is 
he  that  has  done  it?  Where  is  he?  If  they 
could  find  him  they  would  tear  him  all  to  little 
bits,  you  would  think.  And  then  they  do  find 
him.  There  he  stands  on  the  wall,  looking 
down  at  them  and  wondering.  And  when  he 
says  that  he  will  play  with  them  instead  of  the 
knights,  they  forget  all  about  everybody  but 
him  in  a  moment,  and  instead  of  quarrelling 
with  him  or  trying  to  punish  him  for  wounding 
their  knights,  they  only  quarrel  with  one  an- 
other, because  every  one  of  them  wants  him  all 
for  herself. 

"  He  has  come  down  from  the  wall  and  they 
all  gather  around  him,  chattering  and  strug- 
gling for  him.  He  does  not  seem  to  care  half 
so  much  for  them  as  they  do  for  him,  and  when 
he  sees  that  they  will  do  nothing  but  quarrel 
about  him  he  turns  to  go  away  again,  but  a 
voice  calls  him  and  tells  him  to  stay.  He  turns 
again  and  stops,  and  all  the  living  flowers  run 
away,  chattering  and  laughing  at  him.  The 
voice  that  called  him  was  the  woman's.  He  is 
bewildered  when  he  sees  her.  He  has  never 
seen  such  beauty  before,  any  more  than  you  or 
I  ever  have.  For  an  instant  he  thinks  that  she 
is  another  of  the  strange  flowers  of  this  strange 


The  King  of  the  Grail  235 

garden.  Yet  her  beauty  does  not  seem  to 
move  him  very  much.  Perhaps  that  is  because 
he  is  a  Fool. 

"  But  she  speaks  to  him  not  at  all  as  the  other 
living  flowers  did.  At  first  she  makes  him 
remember  the  old  years  when  he  was  with  his 
mother,  how  she  cared  for  him  in  everything, 
and  how  she  tried  to  keep  him  from  knowing 
those  things  which  she  dreaded  that  he  should 
learn.  Then  she  tells  him  again  how  she  died 
when  he  had  left  her.  This,  she  thinks,  with 
what  she  is  to  say  next,  may  move  him,  and  in- 
deed it  does,  but  not  as  she  meant  that  it  should. 
The  great  sorrow  for  his  mother  comes  upon 
him  again,  and  stronger  than  when  he  heard 
first  that  she  was  dead.  He  weeps  now  and 
throws  himself  upon  the  ground,  and  nothing 
can  comfort  him. 

"  The  woman  tries  to  console  him  now.  She 
tells  him  that  if  he  will  but  stay  he  may  have  all 
the  pleasures  of  the  magician's  castle,  and  she 
will  love  him,  she,  the  most  beautiful  woman  in 
the  whole  world.  But  he  does  not  heed  her, 
the  Fool — he  is  thinking  of  other  things.  He 
remembers  the  King  and  his  wound.  So  much 
he  remembers  that  he  almost  feels  the  wound  in 
himself.  And  as  the  woman  bends  above  him 
there  comes  another  thought.  Nobody  has  ever 
told  him,  yet  somehow  now  he  knows,  that  it 
was  she  who  tempted  the  King  when  he  got  that 


236  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

wound,  just  as  she  tries  to  tempt  him  now.  I 
think  that  it  is  his  own  great  sorrow  that  has 
made  him  know  something  of  what  another's 
sorrow  must  be,  and  when  he  has  remembered 
the  King  and  has  felt  the  wound  himself,  all  this 
has  helped  him  to  see  and  to  know  much  more. 
Perhaps  this  is  the  way  that  he  is  '  taught  by 
pity/ 

"  The  woman  cannot  move  him  more,  cannot 
tempt  him,  but  now  the  magician  himself  stands 
on  the  wall  of  the  castle  with  the  spear  in  his 
hand.  The  blood  still  flows  from  the  point  and 
trickles  down  the  shaft  to  his  hand  and  stains 
it  that  deep,  ugly  red.  He  poises  the  spear  a 
moment  and  then  hurls  it  at  the  Fool.  But  it 
will  not  strike  him.  It  stops  above  his  head  and 
hangs  in  the  air.  The  Fool  lifts  his  hand  and 
grasps  the  spear.  The  blood  from  its  point  runs 
down  the  shaft  and  over  his  hand,  and  leaves  it 
clean  and  white.  He  only  shakes  the  spear  in 
his  hand,  and  the  castle  and  the  garden  tremble 
and  fall,  as  the  fire  here  falls  together,  and  they 
are  gone. 

"  Once  more  we  are  near  the  Temple  of  the 
Grail.  The  place  is  at  the  edge  of  woods  which 
reach  away  in  one  direction,  while  in  the  other 
are  fields  and  meadows.  It  is  spring,  and  the 
green  of  the  trees  is  fresh  and  light,  and  the  fields 
are  covered  with  flowers.  They  are  not  like 
the  flowers  of  that  magic  garden.  Their  brignt 


The  King  of  the  Grail  237 

little  cups  hold  cool  drops  of  dew,  and  the  air  is 
full  of  their  perfume.  The  old  knight  is  here. 
He  has  heard  a  sound  like  a  groan  from  the  little 
thicket  of  low  bushes  and  brambles  at  the  border 
of  the  wood.  He  searches,  and  brings  out  a 
woman — the  same  woman.  She  is  still  asleep, 
but  in  a  moment  she  slowly  awakes.  She  is  no 
longer  beautiful.  She  is  out  of  the  magician's 
power  now,  even  if  he  is  not  buried  under  his 
ruined  castle.  She  is  ready  to  serve  the  Grail. 

"  The  Grail !  Alas !  nobody  serves  the  Grail 
now.  The  poor  King,  since  that  last  time  when 
the  Fool  saw  him  uncover  the  Grail,  will  touch 
it  no  more.  He  fears  too  much  the  pain  of  his 
wound.  It  cannot  feed  or  help  its  knights  now, 
and  they  cannot  go  any  more  to  carry  help  into 
far-off  lands.  But  to-day  the  King  has  promised 
that  he  will  uncover  it  for  one  last  time,  for  this 
is  Good  Friday,  when  the  dove  comes  to  renew 
the  power  of  the  Grail. 

"  While  the  old  knight  and  the  woman  stand 
here,  another  comes  toward  them.  He  is  a 
knight  in  black  armor,  with  his  helmet  closed, 
and  carrying  a  spear.  '  Do  you  not  know,'  the 
old  knight  asks  him,  '  what  holy  day  this  is,  and 
that  none  now  should  come  here  bearing  arms  ? ' 
The  black  knight  only  shakes  his  head.  He  sets 
his  spear  in  the  ground  and  kneels  before  it, 
taking  off  his  helmet  and  gazing  up  at  the  point, 
from  which  the  blood  flows.  The  old  knight 


238  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

looks  at  him  and  at  the  spear  in  wonder.  Then 
he  sees  the  blood,  and  by  that  he  knows  what 
spear  it  is.  He  looks  again  at  the  knight,  with 
his  helmet  off,  and  now  he  knows  him  too.  He 
is  filled  with  a  joy  that  he  has  not  known  these 
many  years.  Yes,  the  sorrows  of  the  King  and 
of  the  knights  of  the  Grail  are  over  now.  This 
is  indeed  '  the  simple  Fool,  taught  by  pity/  this 
is  he  whom  the  Grail  has  chosen. 

"  And  now  there  comes  the  soft  sound  of  the 
chimes  to  tell  them  that  it  is  time  for  them  to 
go  to  the  temple  to  see  the  Grail  uncovered. 
The  old  knight  leads  the  way  and  the  others 
follow.  Through  the  woods  and  along  the 
rocky  pathways  they  walk,  the  sound  of  the 
bells  grows  plainer,  and  so  they  come  to  the 
temple.  The  hall  is  filled  with  the  knights  of 
the  Grail.  The  King  is  borne  in  as  he  was  be- 
fore, and  is  brought  to  the  highest  place.  The 
Holy  Grail  is  carried  before  him  with  its  purple 
cover.  They  all  look  at  the  King  and  wait  for 
him.  For  a  moment  he  wavers,  then  he  springs 
from  his  couch — no,  no,  he  will  not  uncover  the 
Grail  again ;  let  him  die  rather ;  let  them  kill 
him,  and  then  the  Grail  shall  feed  them  and 
bless  them,  and  shall  torture  him  no  more. 

"  They  all  draw  back  from  him  in  dread  at 
his  look  and  his  words — all  but  one.  For  the 
Fool  goes  straight  to  him  and  touches  the 
wound  with  the  spear.  Instantly  the  wound 


The  King  of  the  Grail  239 

is  healed.  '  You  shall  uncover  the  Grail  no 
more/  he  says,  '  for  I  am  chosen  to  be  its  King 
instead  of  you.'  He  makes  a  sign  to  the  boys 
who  have  brought  it,  and  they  uncover  it  and 
place  it  in  his  hand.  He  holds  it  above  his 
head  and  again  the  red  blood  in  it  glows  and 
throbs.  Down  from  the  dome  flies  a  white 
dove  and  rests  above  it.  Before  it,  and  before 
him  who  holds  it,  kneel  the  old  King,  no  longer 
king  now,  the  old  knight,  and  the  woman,  for 
her  too  this  new  King  has  saved,  for  he  has 
come,  the  best  knight  of  the  world  and  one 
whom  she  could  not  tempt.  The  simple  Fool 
is  the  King  of  the  Grail.  The  sound  of  the 
singing  voices  comes  down  from  the  dome,  and 
from  far  above  them  come  still  the  voices  of 
the  bells.  Surely  to  any  who  could  know  how 
to  hear  it  their  chiming  must  say  again: 
'  Taught  by  pity — him  I  have  chosen.' " 


THE  ASHES 


THE  ASHES 

AFTER  the  little  girl  had  gone,  I  still  sat  for  a 
long  time  looking  into  the  fire.  I  was  seeing 
pictures  for  myself,  not  now  of  the  days  so 
long  gone  by,  but  of  days  not  yet  come,  pict- 
ures with  the  little  girl  in  them.  There,  in  the 
flames  where  we  had  seen  so  much  together,  I 
could  see  pretty  clearly,  as  I  thought,  what  she 
would  be  and  all  that  she  would  be  some  time. 
But  when  I  tried  to  see  what  she  would  do 
and  how  her  lot  should  fall,  the  fire  would  tell 
me  no  more.  Yet  wherever  and  however  it 
shall  fall,  may  she  not  be  a  little  better,  a  little 
wiser,  a  little  happier  perhaps,  for  knowing 
these  old  stories  that  have  helped  so  many 
women  and  so  many  men  before  her  to  live 
their  lives  ?  Will  it  not  be  good  for  her  to  re- 
member Briinnhilde's  fearless  truth,  Senta's 
sacrifice,  Elizabeth's  constancy  ?  And  if  to  the 
thoughts  of  these  she  add  Parsifal's  lesson  of 
compassion,  surely  then  even  a  little  of  Eva's 
coquetry  can  do  no  harm. 

And  then  I  tried  to  see  something  of  her 
knight.  But  the  fire  had  all  died  down  now, 


244  The  Wagner  Story  Book 

and  was  only  a  heap  of  ashes.  I  could  ques- 
tion as  much  as  I  would,  but  there  was  no  re- 
ply. Would  he  seek  her  out  and  come  to  her 
like  Siegfried,  through  struggles  and  through 
fire  ?  Would  he  find  and  help  her  in  her  great- 
est need,  like  Lohengrin  ?  Would  he  only  love 
her  and  sing  a  song  for  her,  like  Walter?  Or 
would  it  be  for  her  to  help  and  to  save  him, 
like  Vanderdecken  ? — Surely  not  like  Tann- 
hauser.  No,  no  answer.  I  stirred  the  ashes. 
Underneath  there  was  still  a  bright,  ruddy, 
friendly  glow,  but  nothing  more. 

A  clock  somewhere  in  the  house,  with  a  low, 
musical  note,  struck  midnight.  But  what  was 
this  other  music  that  followed  it?  Was  it 
again  the  bells  of  Monsalvat,  this  soft  chime 
that  came  on  the  still  air?  No,  no,  only  church 
bells  far  off,  ringing  in  the  New  Year.  Many 
times  I  had  heard  them  and  well  I  knew  their 
sound.  And  all  around  those  bells,  I  knew 
too,  at  this  moment,  there  were  noise  and  up- 
roar and  confusion,  so  much  that  those  who 
stood  nearest  to  them  in  the  street  could  not 
tell  whether  they  were  ringing,  just  as  many 
other  sweet  and  pleasant  things  are  made  to 
seem  lost  among  the  coarse  and  the  common- 
place. But  to  me  here,  away  from  the  vul- 
gar crowd  and  forgetting  it,  the  music  came, 
faint  indeed,  yet  clear  and  pure.  I  opened 
the  window  and  the  chime  came  plainer  with 


The  Ashes  245 

the  keen  winter  air,  and  the  bells — I  am  sure 
of  it  —  answered  all  my  questions  and  rang  a 
promise  for  the  New  Year  and  for  all  the 
years. 


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